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Universite  of  California. 

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Professor  of  History  and  Law  in  Columbia  Collepe,  New  York. 


THE  GIFT  OF 

MICHAEL     REESE, 
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V 


THE  EARLY  DAWN  ; 

OR,  SKETCHES  OF 

Christian  Life  in  England 


IN   THE 


OLDEN    TIME. 


BY    THE    AUTHOR    OF 


Chronicles  of  the  Schonberg-Cotta  Family." 


ra 


WITH  INTRODUCTION 

BY 

PROF.    HENRY    B.    SMITH,    D.  D. 


NEW   YORK: 

M.  W.  Dodd,  No.  506  Broadway 

1  8  64. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1864,  by 

M.    W.    DODD, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


EDWARD  O.  JENKINS, 

printer  anTj  .Stereo taper, 

20  Nobtii  "William  Street. 


INTRODUCTION 


T  is  the  high  office  of  history  to  restore  the 
Past  to  a  new  life.  All  great  events  have  a 
twofold  life  ;  once,  as  they  actually  occurred, 
and  again,  as  they  are  revived  upon  the  historic  page 
for  the  benefit  of  after  times.  The  historian  must  first 
of  all  give  an  accurate  record  of  facts  in  their  just 
order ;  but  more  than  this  is  needed,  if  the  Past  is  to 
speak  persuasively  to  the  Present.  It  must  be  so  re- 
animated as  to  bring  to  view  living  men  and  scenes, 
that  the  imagination  may  be  enlisted  and  the  pulse 
quickened.  To  the  sharp  outline  of  fact,  fiction  may 
add  its  embellishments,  and  thus  allure  many  who  would 
otherwise  pass  carelessly  by  the  great  lessons  of  human 
history. 

The  author  of  the  Chronicles  of  the  Schonberg-Cotta 
Family  is  already  well  known  and  loved  in  many  house- 
holds of  our  land.  In  that  attractive  volume,  the  story 
of  the  Great  Reformation,  its  spiritual  conflicts  and 
heroes,  were  so  strikingly  described,  as  to  deepen  our 
sense  of  the  great  debt  we  owe  to  those  who  then  con- 

(3) 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

tended  valiantly  for  the  true  faith  against  the  cor- 
ruptions and  despotism  of  the  church  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  In  the  sketches  comprised  in  the  present  volume 
the  scene  is  transferred  from  Germany  to  England,  and 
thus  comes  nearer  home  to  some  of  our  sympathies  and 
associations.  The  Christian  Life  of  England  in  tlw  Olden 
Time  is  here  depicted,  through  several  centuries,  from 
its  earliest  dawn,  in  its  contrasted  lights  and  shadows, 
down  to  "  the  morning  star  of  the  Reformation."  The 
Druid  is  first  introduced  in  converse  with  the  Jew  and 
the  Christian.  The  Two  Martyrs  of  Yerulam  fall  within 
the  period  of  the  Roman  domination,  full  fifteen  hundred 
years  ago.  The  fortunes  of  an  Anglo-Saxon  Family  are 
briefly  sketched  through  three  generations.  The  con- 
tests of  the  Saxon  and  the  Norman,  and  their  different 
traits,  are  vividly  pourtrayed,  in  the  time  of  the  Crusades. 
And  few  tales  are  more  interesting  and  instructive  than 
that  in  which  Cuthbert  narrates  his  experience  in  the 
Order  of  St.  Francis  and  his  illumination  by  the  "  Ever- 
lasting Gospel n  of  Joachim,  and  Cicely  relates  how  Dr. 
"Wycliffe,  of  Oxford,  ministered  to  her  spiritual  needs 
and  insight. 

The  undeniable  charm  of  these  sketches  consists  in 
their  simple,  truthful  adherence  to  the  spirit  and  traits 
of  these  olden  times.  The  author  has  been  a  diligent 
student  of  the  literature,  and,  through  the  literature,  of 
the  very  life  of  the  epochs.  This  is  revealed  in  many 
skillful  touches  of  art,  in  incidental  allusions,  apt  cita- 


INTRODUCTION.        .  5 

tions  and  graphic  descriptions  of  scenes  and  persons. 
But  more  than  this  is  her  rare  gift  of  tracing  the  work- 
ings of  the  human  soul  in  its  needs  and  aspirations,  its 
human  love,  its  divine  longings.  The  permanent  re- 
ligious wants,  which  remain  the  same  under  all  varieties 
of  external  fortune,  are  so  truthfully  set  forth  that  the 
Past  becomes  a  mirror  for  the  Present. 

It  is  a  good  thing,  in  such  company,  to  review  those 
contests  of  our  ancestors  which  have  enured  to  the  last- 
ing benefit  of  mankind.  It  deepens  faith  in  the  work- 
ings and  power  of  Divine  Providence.  Our  belief  in 
the  final  triumph  of  the  Gospel,  through  its  manifold 
contests,  is  made  more  firm,  when  we  see  it,  as  in  these 
Lights  and  Shadows  of  its  early  dawn  in  England,  sub- 
duing paganism,  planting  itself  firmly  among  Britons 
and  Saxons,  equally  professed  by  Normans  and  Saxons 
and  shaping  their  social  and  civil  life,  surviving  in  spite 
of  the  corruptions  of  the  times,  and  breaking  forth  anew, 
in  clearer  light,  with  evangelic  zeal,  among  the  Lol- 
lards, who  spake  in  new  tongues  the  words  of  the  old 
faith,  and  became  the  precursors  of  the  Great  Reforma- 
tion. Our  youth  should  be  made  familiar  with  these 
scenes ;  for  thus  may  they  be  helped  in  their  prepara- 
tion for  the  great  work  of  life. 

H.  B.  S. 

New  York,  June  15^,  1864. 


CONTENTS. 


I.— Lights  and  Shadows  of  The  Early  Dawn,  11 

II  — The  Two  Martyrs  of  Verulam, 29 

III.  -  -Annals  of  an  Anglo-Saxon  Family  Through  Three  Gene- 
rations,       --               75 

IV. — Saxon  Schools  and  Homes, 119 

V. — Saxon  Minsters  and  Missions,      .-.-..  161 

VI. — Alfred  the  Truth-Teller, 209 

VII. — Alfred  the  Truth-Teller, 247 

VIII.-- -Saxon  and  Norman, 295 

IX.— A  Story  of  the  Lollards, 343 


I. 


Lights    and    Shadows 


of  THE 


Early    Dawn. 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS  OF  THE   EARLY   DAWN. 


NE  Midsummer  Eve,  more  than  seventeen  cen- 
turies ago,  the  red  gleams  of  a  huge  bonfire 
contended  with  the  pale  moonbeams  in  cloth- 
ing with  fantastic  light  and  shade  the  gigantic 
piles  of  granite  which  crest,  as  with  a  natural  fortress, 
that  point  of  the  Cornish  coast  now  called  Trerhyn 
Castle.  The  wild  flickerings  of  the  flames  leaped  high 
enough  at  times  even  to  touch  with  their  fiery  glow  the 
edges  of  the  mysterious  Logan  Rock  which  crowns  the 
summit.  - 

That  it  was  no  mere  bonfire  of  merry-makers  might  be 
easily  seen  in  the  earnest  faces  and  grave  movements  of 
the  men  gathered  round  it.  They  were  not  mingled  in 
a  confused  throng,  nor  scattered  in  irregular  groups,  but 
moved  solemnly  round  the  fire  from  east  to  west,  follow- 
ing the  course  of  the  sun,  now  hidden  from  their  gaze 
beneath  that  shoreless  ocean  whose  waves  thundered 
ceaselessly  against  the  base  of  the  cliff  on  which  they 
were  assembled. 

Their  steps  were  the  slow  and  measured  movements 
of  a  sacred  mystic  dance  ;  and  as  they  circled  round  the 

01)      J 


1 2  THE  EARLY  DA  WW. 

blaze  they  sang  a  wild  monotonous  chant,  to  which  the 
minor  intervals  gave,  not  the  plaintive  tenderness  of  a 
major  melody  broken  by  a  minor  fall,  but  rather  the 
abrupt  and  savage  restlessness  of  a  combined  wail  and 
war-cry. 

From  time  to  time  the  song  rose  with  the  flames  into 
a  defiant  shout,  and  then  sank  again  into  the  low  croon- 
ing of  a  dirge ;  the  steps  of  the-  singers  changing  with 
the  music  from  a  rapid  march  to  the  slow  tramp  of  a 
funeral  procession.  The  sacred  music  of  that  old 
British  race  resolved  itself  into  no  calm,  restful,  major 
close. 

Theirs  was  the  worship  of  a  conquered  race,  and  of  a 
proscribed  religion.  Driven  by  the  Romans  from  their 
temples  in  the  interior  of  the  island — temples,  whose 
unhewn  and  gigantic  grandeur  not  even  the  persistency 
of  Roman  enmity  could  ruin — this  little  band  of  the  old 
lords  of  the  land  had  met  in  that  remote  recess,  not  yet 
trodden  by  the  conquerors'  feet,  to  celebrate  the  rites  of 
their  ancient  faith,  under  the  guidance  of  one  of  their 
own  proscribed  Druid  priesthood. 

There,  under  the  shadow  of  that  grand  natural  fort- 
ress, to  us  so  like  one  of  their  own  Druid  temples,  they 
had  kindled  on  May  Day  the  sacred  "  Fire  of  God ; " 
and  there  on  Midsummer  Eve  they  now  gathered  round 
the  "  Fire  of  Peace." 

At  length  the  rites,  endeared  to  them  as  the  last  relics 
of  their  national  existence,  were  finished  ;  the  wild  chant 
was  silent,  succeeded  by  the  ceaseless  roar  of  the  breakers ; 
and  the  torches  were  kindled  at  the  sacred  fire,  to  relight 
once  more,  from  a  sacred  source,  the  household  fires  that 
night  extinguished. 

One  by  one  the  little  British  company  dispersed,  and 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS. 


13 


could  be  traced  along  the  cliffs,  or  inland  across  the  un- 
broken moorland,  by  the  glare  of  their  torches. 

The  Druid  was  left  alone.  A  solemn,  solitary  figure, 
he  stood  on  the  deserted  space  by  the  decaying  fire,  his 
fine  form  still  erect,  although  the  long  beard,  character- 
istic of  his  priestly  office,  was  snow-white  with  age. 
The  fitful  glow  of  the  expiring  embers  threw  a  myste- 
rious light  on  the  folds  of  his  white  robe,  and  gleamed 
on  the  rays  of  the  broad  golden  circlet  which  bound  his 
brow.  Turning  from  the  fire  he  looked  across  the  sea, 
scarcely  more  solitary  or  wild  than  the  rugged  shore  on 
which  he  lingered. 

It  was  always  a  dreary  moment  to  him  when  the 
solemn  rites  were  over,  and  the  worshippers  were  gone. 
A  few  minutes  since  he  had  stood  before  the  awe-stricken 
throng  as  one  altogether  apart  and  exalted,  a  medium 
of  intercourse  with  the  unknown  supreme  powers,  a 
representative  of  the  majesty  so  dimly  understood,  so 
vividly  dreaded ;  and  their  faith  had  thrown  back  a 
reflected  reality  on  his.  But  now  he  stood  alone,  a  mor- 
tal man  to  whom  the  unseen  was  indeed  as  invisible  as 
to  the  meanest  of  those  worshippers ;  and  he  felt  he 
would  have  gladly  borrowed  from  the  meanest  and  most 
credulous  among  them  that  faith  in  the  invisible  which 
his  presence  inspired  in  others,  but  which  he  found  it  so 
hard  to  maintain  in  himself.  His  people  looking  with 
dim  and  longing  eyes  into  the  infinite,  at  least  saw  him ; 
whilst  he  saw  only  a  blank  infinity. 

Musing  thus,  he  gazed  on  that  restless,  boundless 
ocean,  the  broad  sweep  of  whose  waves  measured  the 
long  path  of  moonlight  with  their  perspective  of  dimin- 
ishing curves.  Could  it  be  possible,  he  thought,  that  at 
the  end  of  that  radiant  pathway  human  eyes  (were  they 


1 4  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WJST. 

but  pure  enough)  might  see  the  silvery  outlines  of  that 
"Isle  of  the  Brave,"  where  he  taught  his  people  the 
spirits  of  their  dead  were  resting  ?  Could  it  be  that  the 
waves  which  broke  with  that  wild  and  wistful  music  at 
his  feet  might  sound  in  human  ears  (were  they  but 
worthy  to  hear)  the  echoes  of  those  deathless  shores  in 
the  far  west,  where  perhaps  they  had  received  their  first 
impulse  ? 

Thus  he  stood  musing,*until  his  reverie  was  broken  by 
the  sound  of  footsteps  close  at  hand.  Turning  hastily 
round,  he  saw  between  him  and  the  fire  a  dark  form 
wrapped  in  a  Roman  mantle. 

"  Who  art  thou,"  he  asked  abruptly,  "  that  hast  tracked 
us  thus  to  our  last  refuge  ?  Thou  hast  lighted  on  what 
may  prove  to  thee  a  treasure  better  than  any  of  the 
mines  thy  people  grudge  us.  Doubtless,  thou  seest,"  he 
added  bitterly,  "  that  I  am  one  of  that  proscribed  Druid 
priesthood  whom,  unarmed  and  defenceless,  your  Roman 
armies  so  much  dread.  Denounce  me  to  the  rulers,  if 
thou  wilt.  I  will  follow  thee  without  a  struggle.  Of 
what  avail  to  me  is  life  ?  And  who  knows  what  secrets 
death  may  teach  ?  " 

"  I  am  no  Roman,"  said  the  stranger  sadly.  "  On  my 
people  also  the  wrath  of  those  irresistible  legions  has 
fallen.  I  also  am  one  of  the  priesthood  of  a  proscribed 
religion,  and  of  a  conquered  race.  Far  in  the  East  my 
people  had  once  a  city  beautiful  beyond  all  on  earth,  and 
a  temple  where  white-robed  priests,  mitred  with  gold, 
ministered  and  sacrificed  to  Him  whose  name  must  not 
be  uttered.  Our  temple  is  burned  with  fire,  our  city  is 
laid  waste,  and  trodden  under  foot  of  strangers ;  our 
people  are  scattered  east  and  west,  and  I  among  them. 
I  had  lost  my  way  to-night  on  this  wild  coast,  as  I  was 


LIGHT 8  AND  SHAD  OWS.  15 

journeying  to  the  port  near  this,  whither  of  old  our 
fathers  came  to  traffic,  when,  seeing  the  unusual  gleam  of 
this  fire,  I  came  to  learn  what  it  meant.  Thou  seest  no 
ally  of  the  Romans  in  me." 

The  Druid  was  appeased,  and  laying  aside  his  priestly 
vestments,  he  appeared  in  the  ordinary  Celtic  plaid  worn 
by  his  tribe.  The  two  men  found  a  strange  link  in  their 
isolation  from  other  men ;  and,  piling  up  the  scattered 
logs  on  the  dying  embers,  they  agreed  to  remain  together 
there  until  the  dawn  should  throw  sufficient  light  on 
their  path  to  enable  them  to  travel  safely  along  those 
rugged  cliffs  against  which  the  waves,  now  hidden  in  the 
shades  of  night,  seemed  to  roar  and  chafe,  like  raging 
and  disappointed  beasts  of  prey. 

"Your  priestly  vestments  remind  me  strangely,"  said  the 
Hebrew,  when  they  were  reseated  by  the  fire,  "  of  the 
sacred  robes  my  forefathers  wore  of  old.  Whence  did 
your  religion  come  ?" 

"  The  sources  of  sacred  things  are  hidden  in  night," 
replied  the  Druid.  "  Some  say  our  religion  was  taught 
direct  from  heaven ;  some,  that  it  was  brought,  before 
the  memory  of  man,  from  a  land  in  the  far  East,  whence 
after  the  great  flood  the  father  and  mother  of  our  race 
came  forth." 

"  In  those  distant  ages,"  said  the  Jew,  "  doubtless  your 
forefathers  and  ours  were  one.  Since  you  had  a  priest- 
hood, had  you  then  also  a  temple  and  sacred  rites  ?" 

"  We  had  many  temples,"  was  the  reply ;  "  gigantic 
circles  of  stone,  as  unhewn  and  as  enormous  as  these 
amidst  which  we  stand.  Huge  reminders  of  the  solemn 
cliffs  and  mountains  set  up  in  unrivalled  majesty  on  the 
solitary  sweeps  of  our  great  inland  plains ;  roofed  by 
the  heavens,  and  floored  by  a  bare  unsmoothed  earth.    I 


16  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

laugh  when  I  see  the  pigmy  temples  in  which  these 
Romans  bow  down  before  their  little  men  and  women 
gods." 

"  You  had,  then,  no  graven  images  ?" 

"  Of  old  we  had  none  ;  and  never  any  in  our  temples. 
We  have  but  one  image  of  the  Highest ;  if  indeed/'  lie 
added,  in  a  low  and  awed  voice,  "  he  is  only  an  image ! 
Our  worship  is  directed  to  the  sun.  In  his  eternal 
course  from  east  to  west  our  sacred  dances  move.  At 
his  rising  we  rejoice.  When  in  flowery  May  his  beams 
once  more  begin  to  make  the  earth  fruitful,  we  kindle  in 
his  honour  the  '  Fire  of  God/  and  begin  our  year  anew. 
When  he  has  risen  in  midsummer  to  his  highest  seat  in 
the  heavens,  and  reigns  in  his  fullest  might,  we  kindle 
the  sacred  '  Fire  of  Peace/  as  to-night,  in  honour  of  his 
peaceful  and  consummated  dominion." 

"  Since,  then,  you  had  temples,  had  you  also  sacrifices?" 

"  We  had,"  was  the  solemn  reply ;  "  but  not  such  as 
those  of  the  Romans  ;  not  only  the  white  steer  from  the 
herd,  or  the  spotless  lamb  from  the  flock.  We  offered  to 
our  gods  costlier  sacrifices  than  these,  and  dearer  life." 

"  What  life,  then  ?  "  said  the  Jew,  in  horror. 

"  The  only  life  worthy  to  be  accepted  for  the  life  of 
man,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  the  only  life  worthy  to  be  offered 
to  the  Immortal." 

"  Your  altars  were  stained  with  human  blood  1"  said 
the  Jew,  with  a  shudder  ;  "  your  people  had  indeed,  then, 
a  different  law  from  mine.  But  to  whom,"  he  continued, 
after  a  pause,  "  did  you  offer  these  terrible  offerings  ?  " 

"  The  various  tribes  of  our  race  had  various  names  for 
him,"  said  the  Druid,  in  a  low  voice.  "  Some  called  him 
Hu,  and  some  Dhia  or  Dhe,  and  some  Be'al,  the  life  of  all 
life,  the  source  of  all  being," 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS.  17 

The  Jew  started  as  the  name,  denounced  by  his  proph- 
ets, and  abhorred  by  his  race,  fell  on  his  ear,  yet  strangely 
blended  with  a  word  like  the  incommunicable  name  he 
might  not  utter,  the  mysterious  Jah. 

"  It  is  very  strange ! "  he  said,  at  length.  "  Your  words 
sound  to  me  like  an  echo  of  the  utterance  of  the  prophets 
of  my  people,  resounding  through  the  ages  as  the  waves 
through  one  of  these  ocean  caverns,  and  broken  into 
strange  discords  and  wild  confusion." 

"  Had  you  then  no  sacred  writings  ? f1 

"  We  have  none,"  said  the  Druid.  "  Our  aged  priests 
teach  the  sacred  words  in  solemn  chants  to  the  priestly 
neophytes,  and  initiate  them  in  the  sacred  rites.  So  we 
were  taught ;  so  shall  we  teach  those  that  follow,  if  the 
world  or  our  race  is  to  endure." 

"  But,"  said  the  Jew,-"  did  you  never  shrink  from  the 
sufferings  of  the  victims  as  you  sacrificed  them,  or  think 
whether  there  might  not  be  some  pity  in  the  Eternal 
which  might  revolt  from  such  rites." 

"  Am  I  not  a  man  ?  "  was  the  reply.  "  Doubtless  my 
heart  often  ached  at  the  sufferings  of  those  we  sacrificed, 
especially  at  first.  But  the  sufferers  were,  for  the  most 
part,  criminals,  or  captives  taken  in  war  ;  and  what  was 
I,  to  be  wiser  than  the  aged  who  taught  me  ?  " 

The  remembrance  of  the  sacred  name,  revealed  to  the 
law-giver  of  his  nation,  rushed  in  on  the  heart  of  the 
Jew — of  "  Jehovah  Jehovah  Elohim,"  the  eternal  and  the 
mighty,  "  merciful  and  gracious,  long-suffering,  abounding 
in  goodness  and  truth,  yet  by  no  means  clearing  the 
guilty  ; "  and  with  it  came  the  recollection  of  that  ritual 
so  stern  in  its  demands  for  Mie  acknowledgment  of  sin, 
and  of  the  forfeited  right  of  the  sinner  to  life,  yet  so 
jealous  in  its  guard  for  that  human  life  it  declared  forfeit. 


I g  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

"  Are  you  sure  that  your  god  hears  you  when  you  thus 
invoke  and  sacrifice  to  him  ?  "  he  said,  after  a  pause. 

"  We  assure  the  people  of  these  things,"  was  the  eva- 
sive reply  ;  "  and  also  of  rewards  and  punishments  in  the 
world  beyond.  The  people  need  the  barriers  of  such  be- 
lief to  keep  them  from  crime." 

"  But  you  do  not  teach  what  you  do  not  believe  ?" 

"  Belief  is  not  so  easy  for  the  instructed,"  was  the  re- 
ply. "  Who  that  has  looked  into  the  depth  of  life  can 
rest  and  believe  like  the  ignorant  ?  " 

"  Our  faith,"  said  the  Jew,  mournfully,  "  was  a  faith  for 
all ;  our  most  sacred  truths  were  for  the  peasant  as  well 
as  the  priest.  Among  us  the  seers  revealed  what  they 
had  seen,  and  the  prophets  believed  what  they  taught." 

The  Druid  listened  long  with  grave  interest  as  the 
Hebrew  spoke  of  that  God  who  was  revealed  to  his  peo- 
ple as  at  once  so  awful  and  so  near ;  before  whom,  the 
prophet  said,  "  The  holy  hosts  above  veil  their  faces," 
and  yet  of  whom  the  shepherd-king  could  say,  "  He  is  my 
Shepherd." 

At  length  he  said, — 

"  But  since  you  had  such  revelations,  and  such  a  faith, 
and  were  a  nation  so  honored  by  the  Highest,  how  can 
it  be  that  you  are  a  banished  man  like  me  ?  Did  you 
not  speak  of  the  city  of  your  people  as  laid  waste,  and 
their  sanctuary  as  desecrated?  What  does  this 
mean?" 

"  I  know  not,  or,  at  least,  I  can  only  partly  conjecture," 
was  the  sad  reply.  "  Our  people  had  sinned,  and  our 
God  is  one  who  will  not  clear  the  guilty.  Once  before, 
our  fathers  were  driven  from  their  homes  into  that  yet 
further  East  whence  first  they  came,  and  our  holy  and 
beautiful  house  was  burned  with  fire.    But  then,  in  their 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS. 


19 


exile  they  had  prophets  and  promises,  and  a  limit  fixed 
to  their  disgrace,  at  the  end  of  which  they  were  indeed 
restored.  But  now  we  have  no  prophets,  nor  any  who 
can  interpret.  Scattered  hither  and  thither  we  lose  the 
record  of  our  linkage.  Our  glory  is  all  in  the  past.  In 
all  the  future  I  can  see  no  vision  of  hope.  It  seems  to 
me,  sometimes,  almost  as  if  our  nation  had  made  ship- 
wreck in  the  night  on  some  unknown  sunken  rock. 
Around  us  and  before  us  is  no  shore,  nor  any  light  in 
view,  save  in  that  distant  past  to  which  the  blazing  ruins 
of  our  temple  warn  us  we  may  not  return." 

"  Yet,"  resumed  the  Druid,  "  had  it  been  otherwise  with 
your  nation,  scarcely  would  your  prosperity  have  brought 
hope  to  the  world,  to  other  races,  or  to  mine.  You  say 
it  was  to  your  nation  only  God  spoke ;  to  your  nation 
alone  the  promises  were  made,  which  in  some  incompre- 
hensible way  you  have  lost.  The  world,  then,  has  lost 
little  in  your  fall." 

"  I  know  not,"  replied  the  Jew.  "  Our  prophets  spoko 
of  the  veil  being  rent  from  all  people,  and  of  all  nations 
coming  to  the  brightness  of  the  rising  of  a  King  who  was 
to  reign  over  ours." 

"  Did  this  King  then  never  come  ?  " 

"How  can  he  have  come?"  said  the  Jew,  with  a 
strange  impatience.  "  How  should  I  then  be  here,  an 
exile  without  a  country  ?  And  was  not  our  King  to  come 
as  a  Conqueror  and  a  Redeemer  for  our  nation, — as  a 
Sun,  flashing  his  unquestionable  glory  on  all  nations? 
There  is,  indeed,"  he  added,  a  fanatical  sect  who  sprang 
from  our  race,  who  assert  that  our  King  has  come,  and 
that  it  is  for  rejecting  him  we  are  rejected.  But  who  can 
believe  this?" 

"  It  would  be  terrible,  truly,  for  your  people  to  believe 


2o  TEE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

it,"  said  the  Druid.  "Those  amongst  you  who  think 
thus  must  be  a  mourning  and  wretched  company." 

"  Nay/7  was  the  answer,  "  they  are  not.  Their  delu- 
sion leads  them  to  profess  themselves  the  most  blessed 
of  men.  They  think  that  he  whom  they  call  King  and 
Lord,  who  not  much  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago  was 
crucified  by  the  Romans  in  our  city,  has  arisen  from  the 
dead,  and  liyes  in  heaven.  And  they  say  they  are  glad 
to  die  to  depart  to  him." 

"Their  hope  extends  then  beyond  death,"  said  the 
Druid,  abstractedly.  "  There  are  then  some  who  think 
they  know  of  one  who  has  visited  the  *  Isle  of  the  Brave/ 
and  has  come  back  to  tell  what  he  saw ! " 

As  they  spoke,  the  dawn  began  to  break  over  the  green 
slopes  of  the  shore  on  a  promontory  of  which  they  sat. 
One  by  one  the  higher  points  of  that  magnificent  series 
of  rock-bastions  which  guard  our  country  from  the  At- 
lantic, like  a  fortress  of  God,  caught  the  early  sunbeams. 
Soon  the  ocean  also  was  bathed  in  another  ocean  of  light, 
broken  only  by  the  shadow  of  the  cliffs,  or  by  the  countless 
purple  cups  of  shade,  which  gave  an  individual  existence 
to  every  one  of  those  wonderful  translucent  green  waves. 

The  two  priests  of  the  two  religions  moved  slowly 
across  the  pass  between  the  rocks  which  separate  the 
natural  castled  bulwark,  where  they  had  passed  the  night, 
from  the  green  slopes  of  the  coast  within. 

"  See,"  exclaimed  the  Druid,  "  how  the  fire,  which  dur- 
ing the  hours  of  darkness  was  all  our  light,  now  lies  a 
faint  red  stain  on  the  daylight ;  whilst  the  waves,  which 
all  night  roared  around  us  like  angry  demons,  quietly 
heave  in  the  sunshine.  The  earth  has  her  dawns  renewed 
continually.  Will  no  new  sun  ever  rise  for  man  ?  Must 
the  golden  dawn  for  us  be  always  in  the  past  ?  " 


LIGHTS  AND  SHAD  OWS.  21 

Too  deep  a  shadow  rested  for  the  Jew  on  the  glorious 
predictions  of  his  prophets  for  him  to  give  any  answer  ; 
and  silently  they  went  along  the  cliffs. 

When  they  had  walked  inland  thus  for  some  time,  they 
saw  before  them  a  labourer,  in  an  earth-stained  and  com- 
mon dress,  going  to  his  work  in  one  of  the  mines  which 
of  old  had  tempted  the  Phoenicians  to  those  very  shores. 

This  miner  was  evidently  young,  and  had  the  lithe 
grace  of  the  South  about  his  form  and  movements.  As 
he  walked  he  sang,  and  the  tones  of  his  rich  Southern 
tenor  rose  clear  and  full  through  the  clear  morning  air. 
The  cadence  was  different  from  any  music  the  Druid  had 
ever  heard.  There  was  a  repose  about  the  melody,  quite 
foreign  to  the  wild  wails  or  war  songs  of  ,his  people. 
And  as  they  drew  near,  the  language  was  to  him  as 
strange.  They  stepped  on  softly  behind  the  singer,  and 
listened. 

"  Strange  words  to  hear  in  such  a  place,"  murmured 
the  Jew  at  length.  "  They  are  Greek — the  language  of 
a  people  who  dwelt  of  old,  and  dwell  still,  in  the  East, 
near  the  home  of  my  forefathers." 

They  drew  near  and  greeted  the  stranger.  There  was 
a  gentle  and  easy  courtesy  in  his  manner  as  he  returned 
their  salutations,  which,  in  a  son  of  the  North,  would 
have  betokened  high  breeding,  but  in  him  might  be 
merely  the  natural  bearing  of  his  acute  and  versatile 
race.  He  willingly  complied  when  the  Jew  asked  him 
to  repeat  his  song,  which  he  translated  thus  to  the 
Druid : — 

Glory  to  God  in  the  highest, 
And  on  earth  peace, 
Good-will  among  men. 
"We  praise  Thee, 


22  THE  EARLY  DA  WK 

We  bless  Thee, 
We  worship  Thee 
For  thy  great  glory, 
0  Lord,  heavenly  King, 
0  God  the  Father  ruling  all, 
0  Lord  the  only-begotten  Son, 
Saviour,  Messiah, 
With  the  Holy  Spirit. 

0  Lord  God, 

Lamb  of  God, 

Son  of  the  Father, 

Who  takest  away  the  sins  of  the  world, 

Receive  our  prayer. 

Thou  who  sittest  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Father, 

H^ve  mercy  on  us, 

For  Thou  only  art  holy — 

Thou  only  art  the  Lord, 

Saviour,  and  Messiah — 

To  the  glory  of  God  the  Father.     Amen. 

"  Ask  him  if  he  has  any  other  such  sacred  songs,"  said 
the  Druid  ;  "  the  words  sound  to  me  beautiful  and  true, 
like  an  echo  of  half-forgotten  music,  heard  long  ago  in 
some  former  life  from  which  perchance  my  soul  came 
into  this." 

"  I  will  chant  you  our  evening  hymn,"  said  the  miner ; 
and  lie  sang  again — 

Joyful  light  of  heavenly  glory, 
Of  the  immortal  heavenly  Father, 
The  holy  and  the  blessed 
*     Jesus  Christ! 

We,  coming  at  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
Seeing  the  evening  light, 
Hymn  the  Father  and  the  Son, 
And  the  Holy  Spirit,  God. 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS.  23 

Worthy  art  Thou  at  all  times  to  be  praised 

With  holy  voices,  Son  of  God, 

Thou  who  givest  light, 

Therefore  doth  the  world  glorify  Fhee. 


"Wonderful  words,"  said  the  Jew,  after  translating 
them.  "  They  seem  almost  like  a  response  from  heaven 
to  what  you  said  ;  like  the  promise  of  the  dawn  for  man 
for  which  you  longed.  Friend,"  he  said  to  the  miner, 
"how  earnest  thou  hither?  Thy  learning  is  above  thy 
calling." 

"Not  so,"  replied  the  other  meekly.  "I  was  never 
other  than  a  poor  man.  These  truths  are  common  to  the 
most  unlettered  among  us." 

"  To  whom  does  he  allude  by  '  us  V  "  asked  the  Drui^ 
when  he  understood. 

"  We  are  the  Christians,  the  men  of  Christ,"  said  the 
stranger,  replying  to  the  Druid's  question  in  his  own 
native  Celtic  language,  although  with  a  foreign  accent. 
"  I  was  a  vine-dresser  on  the  sunny  hills  near  Smyrna. 
My  father  learned  the  faith  from  the  Apostle  John,  the 
Beloved  ;  and  I  was  exiled  hither  to  work  in  the  mines 
in  the  far  West  because  I  could  not  deny  my  Lord." 

"  Bitter  change,"  said  the  Jew,  "  from  those  vine-clad 
southern  hills  to  toil  in  the  darkness  on  these  cold  north- 
ern shores." 

"  Where  I  am  going  there  will  be  no  need  of  the  sun," 
was  the  calm  reply ;  but  the  ominous  hectic  flush  deep- 
ened on  his  hollow  cheek. 

"  How,  then,"  said  the  Druid,  "  is  your  faith  maintained 
in  this  life  of  exile  and  bondage  ?  Here  you  can  have 
no  temple  and  no  priest." 

"  We  have  a  Temple !"  was  the  joyful  reply,  "  not  made 


24 


THE  EARLY  DAWN. 


with  hands  ;  and  a  Priest,  though  not  seen  now  by  mor- 
tal eyes." 

"  He  speaks  in  parables,"  said  the  Druid. 

"  I  speak  no  parables,"  said  the  Christian,  "  but  simply 
matters  of  fact,  of  which  we  are  all  assured." 

"  Have  you  then  also  sacrifices  ?"  asked  the  Druid. 

"  We  have  a  Sacrifice,"  was  the  low  and  reverent  reply ; 
"  One,  spotless  and  eternal,  never  more  to  be  repeated. 
The  Highest  gave  his  Son.  The  Holy  One  yielded  up 
himself.  God  has  provided  the  Lamb,  The  Lamb  of 
God  and  the  Son  of  God  are  one." 

"  He  speaks  of  the  promise  made  to  our  father  Abra- 
ham," exclaimed  the  Jew. 

"  Life  for  life,"  murmured  the  Druid,  "  life  of  man  for 
life  of  man." 

"  Nay,  it  was  not  man  who  made  the  sacirfice,"  said 
the  Christian,  "  but  God.  Not  the  sinner's  life  was  re 
quired  ;  the  Son  yielded  up  his  own." 

"  You  have  then  no  sacrifices  to  offer  now,''  said  the 
Druid. 

"  Not  so,"  said  the  Christian  joyfully ;  "  we  have  a 
daily,  ceaseless  sacrifice  to  offer — a  living  sacrifice,  ac- 
ceptable to  God  through  Jesus  Christ ;  even  ourselves, 
to  do  and  suffer  all  the  holy  will  of  God, — we  ourselves, 
body,  soul  and  spirit,  to  fulfil  the  will  of  Him  who  loved 
us  and  redeemed  us  with  his  precious  blood  to  God." 

"  But,"  resumed  the  Druid,  "  is  that  holy  life,  which 
you  say  was  willingly  yielded  up  for  man,  extinct  for 
ever  ?    Shall  the  holy  perish  and  the  guilty  live  ?" 

"  Nay,"  was  the  reply,  in  a  tone  of  concentrated  fer- 
vour, "  that  immortal  life  could  not  perish.  The  Son  of 
God  is  risen  from  the  dead,  and  dieth  no  more.  And 
now,"  he  continued,  speaking  eagerly,  as  one  who  has 


LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS.  25 

good  news  to  tell,  "  He  sitteth  enthroned  at  the  right 
hand  of  God,  the  Sun  of  the  City  above." 

"  Have  you  then  also  a  sacred  city  ?"  said  the  Jew  in 
a  tone  of  surprise. 

"  It  lieth  toward  the  sun-rising,"  replied  the  Christian, 
in  the  words  of  an  early  martyr,  "  Jerusalem  the  heav- 
enly, the  city  of  the  holy." 

"Your  golden  age,  your  holy  city,  are  then  in  the 
future,  not  in  the  past,"  said  both. 

"  You  speak  of  an  immortal  life  for  each  man,"  added 
the  Druid,  "  but  is  there  never  to  be  a  good  time  for 
mankind  ?" 

"  It  is  written,  that  the  King,  the  Christ,  will  come 
again  in  glory,  to  judge  the  wicked  and  to  raise  the 
just,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  and  that  then  truth  and  righteous- 
ness shall  reign  on  earth,  for  he  is  holy,  and  just,  and 
true,  and  in  Him  all  the  nations  of  the  earth  shall  be 
blessed." 

Often,  during  the  months  that  followed,  the  Hebrew 
and  the  Druid  sought  that  lowly  miner's  hut.  There  Jew 
and  Gentile  learned  together  concerning  Him  who  is  the 
Hope  of  Israel  and  the  Desire  of  all  nations. 

The  blank  wall  of  darkness,  which  to  the  Jew  had 
seemed  so  strangely  and  abruptly  to  close  the  long  path 
of  prophetic  light  and  promise,  parted  and  dissolved,  dis- 
playing to  his  adoring  gaze  the  Sacrifice  to  whom  all 
sacrifices  pointed,  the  Priest  in  whom  all  priesthood  is 
consummated,  the  King  of  whom  Hebrew  kings  and 
prophets  sang,  in  whom  all  dominion  centres. 

To  the  Druid  the  dim  desires  of  his  heart  were  at  once 
explained  and  fulfilled.  Sin  and  falsehood  were  discov- 
ered and  brought  to  shame.  "  Life  and  immortality 
were  brought  to  light."  And  on  both  gradually  dawned, 
2 


26  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

as  the  power  and  the  wisdom  of  God,  not  a  doctrine 
merely,  nor. a  ritual,  but  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  living 
God. 

Thus  along  the  rocky  shores  of  the  Atlantic  rose  in 
threefold  harmony  the  Christian  hymns  to  Him  who 
heareth  always  ;  the  Sun  whose  presence  is  day  to  faith, 
the  Glory  for  which  Israel  waited,  the  Redeemer  for 
whom  all  nations  blindly  groped  and  longed,  the  Lamb 
of  God  who  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world. 

There  also,  ere  long,  in  that  lowly  hut,  those  strangers 
watched  as  brothers  by  the  death-bed  of  the  Smyrniote 
exile,  now  one  with  them  in  Christ.  And  there,  on  that 
bleak  shore,  they  buried  him,  in  a  quiet  nook,  consecrated 
by  solitude,  and  thenceforth  by  the  immortal  seed  of  "  the 
body  that  shall  be." 

Races  have  passed  away  since  then,  and  civilizations ; 
rituals  and  religious  systems  have  grown  up,  run  to  seed, 
and  perished  ;  but  from  those  early  ages  to  this  that  new 
song  of  life  and  hope  has  never  been  entirely  silenced  on 
our  British  shores .* 

*  Tertullian  speaks  of  Christianity  as  having  in  his  day  penetrated  to 
regions  of  Britain  which  the  Roman  legions  had  not  reached.  And  subse- 
quent history  proves  that  the  ancient  British  Church  derived  its  faith  and 
its  customs  from  the  Eastern  Church.  (Neander's  Church  History ;  Mil- 
man's  Latin  Christianity,  &c,  &c.) 


II. 


The   Two   Martyrs 


Verul am. 


II. 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM. 


HE  history  of  Romanized  Britain  seems  scarcely 
to  have  more  connection  with  the  history  of 
England  and  Englishmen,  than  the  history  of 
the  geological  convulsions  which  preceded  it. 
Indeed,  in  some  respects  it  has  much  less.  The  succession 
of  fishy  and  vegetable  occupants  of  our  shores  have  left 
their  indelible  traces  on  our  fossil  rocks,  our  coal-beds, 
our  alluvial  plains.  The  Roman  possessors  of  our  coun- 
try swept  over  it  like  a  passing  wave,  leaving  no  traces 
imbedded  in  the  foundations  of  our  social  life.  We  are 
in  no  sense  their  descendants  or  their  heirs.  A  great 
historical  chasm  separates  those  centuries  of  foreign  and 
superficial  civilization  from  the  rough  and  real  Saxon 
times  which  followed  them.  Convulsed,  and  invaded, 
and  devastated,  as  our  country  continued  to  be  for  many 
centuries,  the  continuity  of  its  history  is  never  again 
utterly  broken  after  the  establishment  of  the  first  Saxon 
kingdom.  Those  Northern  seamen,  those  Kentish,  and 
Northumbrian,  and  West  Saxon  kings,  are  substantial 
living  men  to  us.  They  are  our  flesh  and  blood.  But 
Boadicea  and  Caractacus  are  almost  as  shadowy  to  us  as 
the  Roxane  or  Andromaque  of  the  French  stage.  If  even, 
by  a  severe  mental  effort,  we  succeed  in  convincing  our- 

(29) 


10  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

selves  of  their  existence,  their  existence  has  little  more 
to  do  with  us  than  that  of  their  contemporaries  in  Eome 
or  Alexandria. 

Neither  the  conquerors  nor  the  conquered  of  those 
dim,  ancient  days,  touch  us  with  a  sense  of  kindred.  Our 
inheritance  of  Roman  civilization  has  descended  to  us  in- 
directly through  its  mediaeval  interpreters,  rather  than 
directly  from  the  Caesars  who  reigned  in  Britain.  What- 
ever of  Celtic  thought  or  life  has  interwoven  itself  into 
ours,  flows  rather  from  the  legends  of  King  Arthur  than 
from  the  history  of  Caractacus,  king  of  the  Trinobantes, 
or  Boadicea,  queen  of  the  Iceni. 

Partly,  perhaps,  this  feeling  is  caused  by  the  inapti- 
tude of  the  Eoman  historians  for  rendering  native  names. 
How  is  it  possible  for  Englishmen  to  feel  any  relationship 
with  the  inhabitants  of  Camalodunum  or  Verulamium  ; 
with  the  Iceni,  the  Silures,  or  the  Ordovices?  Through 
the  pages  of  Latin  historians,  everything  is  Latinized. 
Caractacus  speaks  like  a  senator  of  austere  old  Rome — 
Boadicea  harangues  like  a  matron  of  the  early  republic  ; 
or  rather,  like  the  representative  of  such  a  matron  on  the 
stage.  Had  a  few  fragments  reached  us  of  the  British 
records  of  Roman  conquest,  they  might  probably  touch 
our  hearts  more  than  all  the  encomiums  or  the  reprehen- 
sions of  Tacitus.  But,  as  it  is,  Romans  and  Britons — 
conquerors  and  conquered — are  almost  equally  foreigners 
to  us. 

Unfortunately,  the  early  history  of  Christian  life  in  our 
country,  which  might  have  supplied  the  missing  link, 
is  too  irretrievably  mixed  up  with  legend  effectually  to 
do  so. 

Even  St.  Alban,  the  martyr  of  Verulam,  is  a  far  more 
shadowy  being  to  us  than  tjie  Smyrniote  Polycarp,  the 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  31 

African  Perpetua,  or  the  martyrs  of  Vienne.  And  the 
first  name  that  emerges  into  plain  historical  distinctness 
in  the  ecclesiastical  annals  of  our  land  is,  unhappily,  the 
chilling  name  of  Pelagius. 

Yet  of  the  existence  and  martyrdom  of  St.  Alban  there 
seems  little  reason  to  doubt.  His  sufferings  are  not  elab- 
orated into  any  of  the  frightful  torments  with  whose 
ghastly  illumination  monastic  chroniclers  delighted  to 
dazzle  their  readers.  Legend  has  indeed  garlanded  the 
narrative  with  flowers  of  wonder,  but  it  has  not  sullied 
it  with  horrors.  Fifteen  hundred  years  ago,  on  the  green 
heights  now  crowned  by  the  Abbey  Church  of  St.  Albans, 
we  may  believe  a  Christian  martyr  did  actually  give  up 
his  life  for  Christ — not  indeed  an  English  martyr,  yet 
truly  one  of  our  spiritual  kindred,  truly  our  brother  in 
the  family  whose  ties  are  for  eternity. 

Fifteen  hundred  years  ago,  and  once  again  since  then ! 

The  last  sunbeams  were  lingering  on  the  hill  now 
crowned  by  the  Abbey  Church  of  St.  Albans,  then  crested 
with  native  forests  ;  but  twilight  was  fast  creeping  over 
the  river,  and  the  town  on  its  banks,  when  a  bridal  pro- 
cession passed  through  the  streets  of  Roman  Yerulam, 
from  the  house  of  the  bride's  father  to  that  of  the  bride- 
groom. 

There  were  the  flashing  of  torches,  the  songs  of  the 
youths,  the  escort  of  veiled  virgins,  and  all  the  picturesque 
pomp  which  has  become  to  us  so  allegorical. 

Many  pronounced  aloud  their  good  wishes  for  the 
bride,  as  she  stepped  by,  her  face  hidden,  like  Aurora's, 
in  her  flame-coloured  veil,  and  the  little  crimson-slippered 
feet  peeping  out  from  beneath  the  purple  border  of  her 
white  robe.  The  household  of  Valeria,  and  her  father, 
and  the  old  soldier  Caius  Valerius,  was  much  respected 
2* 


32 


THE  EARL  Y  DA  WJST. 


in  Yerulam  as  an  exceptional  household,  on  the  virtuous 
old  Roman  model. 

Valerius  being  thus  a  Roman  of  the  old  type,  the  old 
Roman  customs  were  more  strictly  adhered  to  in  this 
instance  than  was  usual  in  those  degenerate  days. 

The  maidens  carried  the  distaff  and  spindle  after  the 
bride,  and  the  boys- waved  the  pine  torches.  At  the  door 
of  the  bridegroom's  house,  he  met  her  with  the  ancient 
challenge,  "  Who  art  thou  ?  "  to  which  she  murmured  the 
prescribed  reply,  "  Ibi  tu  Caius,  ibi  ego  Caia  " — "  Where 
thou  art  Caius,  there  am  I  Caia." 

Then  after  reverently  anointing  the  garlanded  door- 
posts against  the  spell  of  malign  demons,  and  binding 
them  with  woollen  fillets,  she  was  lifted  over  the  sacred 
threshold,  on  which  it  was  inauspicious  for  her  to  tread. 

The  sheep-skin,  typical  of  household  industry,  was 
placed  beneath  her  feet,  and  the  keys,  typical  of  house- 
hold authority,  were  gravely  given  into  her  hands.  To- 
gether bride  and  bridegroom  touched  the  sacred  primal 
elements  of  fire  and  water,  "  source  of  all  things,"  and 
late  into  the  night  echoed  through  the  street  and  along 
the  river  the  sounds  of  feasting,  and  the  songs  of  the  vir- 
gins chanting  the  nuptial  songs. 

There  was  weighty  meaning  in  all  these  ceremonies,  a 
recognition  of  the  sacredness  of  marriage  and  the  religious 
capacities  of  womanhood,  of  incalculable  social  value, 
when  contrasted  with  the  Oriental  degradation  of  women, 
or  the  monastic  Manichaean  misapprehension  of  marriage. 

In  those  simple  words,  "  Where  thou  art  Caius,  there  I 
am  Caia,"  were  implied  a  whole  world  of  sacred  social 
rights.  Ancient  Rome  did  not  rise  above  the  nations  by 
her  corruptions,  but  by  her  virtues.  By  her  corruptions 
she  fell. 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  33 

How  fallen,  however,  from  this  ancient  ideal  the  man- 
ners of  the  times  in  which  Valeria  lived  she  little  knew. 
To  her  the  words  and  the  rites  were  invested  with  a 
deep  sacred ness.  Her  father  had  brought  her  up  in  seclu- 
sion and  simplicity,  and  in  a  reverent  attention  to  the 
religion  of  her  ancestors. 

Before  the  marriage  she  had  been  present  at  the  sacri- 
fices, and  had  anxiously  watched  the  auguries.  On  the 
next  day  she  shared  in  offering  libations  to  the  house- 
hold gods,  and  garlanded  them  with  flowers. 

She  then  proceeded  to  order  everything  for  the  feast 
her  husband  was  to  give  that  evening,  and  in  the  after- 
noon the  matrons  came  with  presents  and  salutations.  It 
was  not  till  the  following  day  that  she  found  herself  alone 
after  the  supper  with  her  husband  in  the  dwelling  room, 
when  she  took  her  distaff,  and  seating  herself  on  a  low 
stool  near  his  couch,  began  to  spin  in  silence. 

For  some  time  he  watched  the  white  hands  flashing  to 
and  fro  at  the  distaff,  and  the  serious  expression  which 
rested  with  such  a  charm  on  the  girlish  face. 

He  might  have  watched  her  for  hours  in  unbroken 
silence.  It  was  quite  contrary  to  Valeria's  ideas  of  do- 
mestic etiquette  to  speak  to  the  lord  of  the  household  until 
she  was  spoken  to.  Besides,  she  knew  nothing  of  her 
husband's  tastes  or  ways  of  thinking,  never  having  spoken 
to  him,  except  in  formulas  of  compliment,  before  their 
marriage.  At  length  he  rose,  and  laying  his  hand  on 
hers,  stopped  her  busy  fingers,  and  said, — 

"  Valeria,  talk  to  me." 

She  coloured,  and  looked  up  with  a  startled  expression. 
M  About  what,  Aurelius  ?  " 

"  About  what  you  were  thinking  of." 

The  suggestion  did  not  assist  her,     She  was  not  clear 


34 


THE  EARLY  DAWK 


that  at  the  moment  she  had  been  thinking  of  anything, 
and  she  was  quite  clear  that  a  few  moments  before  she 
had  been  thinking  of  what  she  would  have  been  afraid 
to  mention  to  him. 

She  therefore  looked  down  and  said  nothing. 

"  Tell  me,  Valeria,  what  you  were  thinking  of.  You 
looked  grave  enough  for  your  namesake  when  she  was 
meditating  the  deliverance  of  Rome,  besieged  by  Corio- 
lanus.     What  were  those  grave  thoughts  ?" 

Valeria  decided  that  conjugal  duty  required  her  to 
speak,  and  Roman  veracity  to  speak  the  truth,  and  there- 
fore, colouring  deeply,  in  a  low  tremulous  voice,  she  said, — 

"  I  was  thinking,  Aurelius,  why  you  omitted  the  pray- 
ers to  the  immortal  gods  before  and  after  the  meal !" 

He  looked  perplexed.  Hitherto  he  had  watched  her 
quiet  methodical  movements  with  an  amused  interest, 
much  as  if  she  had  been  a  precocious  child  playing  the 
matron.  Valeria  was  not  sixteen,  and  there  was  a  girl- 
ishness  in  her  light  movements,  and  a  childlike  uncon- 
sciousness in  her  expression  and  in  all  her  ways  which 
made  her  seem  even  younger.  Therefore  the  question 
startled  Aurelius.  It  awakened  the  memory  of  his  own 
religious  perplexities,  and  he  wondered  if  she  shared 
them.    But  he  answered  lightly, — 

"  It  is  plain,  my  Valeria,  that  you  have  taken  eternal 
leave  of  the  dolls  and  playthings  which  you  sacrificed  in 
the  temple  the  day  before  yesterday.  What  put  such 
grave  questions  in  your  head  ?" 

"  Only  because  it  is  different  from  what  my  father  did," 
she  replied  simply.  "  He  was  always  very  exact  about 
the  libations  and  invocations,  and  he  always  told  me  rev- 
erence for  the  immortals  was  the  foundation  of  the  Roman 
State  and  of  every  virtuous  Roman  household." 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  YERULAM. 


35 


It  was  plain  that  Valeria's  faith  had  never  desired 
any  further  sanction  than  her  father's  word.  Aurelius 
saw  that  the  great  chaos  of  doubt,  in  which  his  thoughts 
often  recklessly  tossed  hither  and  thither,  was  a  region 
entirely  unknown  to  her ;  and,  as  a  sensible  man,  he 
respected  her  principles,  on  which,  unfounded  as  they 
might  be,  he  felt  the  sacredness  of  his  home  was  better 
founded  than  on  anything  else  he  knew. 

"  I  can  never  be  grateful  enough  to  your  father,"  he 
said,  "  for  bestowing  on  me  a  wife  fair  as  Hebe,  and  re- 
ligious as  a  Vestal." 

Valeria  was  encouraged  to  say, — 

"  It  was  then  a  mistake  about  the  invocations  ?" 

"  It  is  an  omission  that  shall  occur  no  more,"  he  re- 
plied. 

Valeria  was  satisfied.  She  had  no  suspicion  of  relig- 
ious rites  being  practised  without  a  certain  measure  of 
religious  reverence ;  and  thenceforth  the  pious  customs 
of  her  father's  house  were  transferred  to  her  own.  The 
Lares  and  Penates  were  duly  crowned  and  honoured, 
the  temples  visited  at  the  festivals,  the  libations  and 
sacrifices  duly  made  at  the  meals  at  home.  Caius  Vale- 
rius rejoiced  in  his  daughter's  household  as  one  worthy 
of  days  of  primitive  virtue  and  religion  ;  and  Aurelius 
rejoiced  in  his  wife  as  a  grafting  of  all  that  was  gentle 
and  loving  in  womanhood  on  the  severe  stock  of  old 
Roman  virtue.  Often,  however,  he  wondered  at  the 
nature  of  the  faith  which  thus  influenced  her,  and  once, 
when  she  returned  from  sacrificing  in  one  of  the  temples, 
he  said  to  her, — 

"  Valeria,  what  did  your  father  teach  you  about  the 
immortal  gods  ?" 

"  That  they  are  pleased  with  us  when  we  do  right," 


3  6  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

she  said,  "  and  displeased  when  we  do  wrong  ;  that  they 
accept  our  sacrifices,  and  reward  those  who  worship  them." 

"  Do  you  worship  them  all  equally  ?"  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  you  know  there  are  the  great  gods 
and  the  lesser ;  the  gods  of  the  Roman  State,  and  the 
household  gods  ;  and  the  immortal  goddesses,  the  moth- 
ers of  the  gods  ;  and  Diana,  and  the  rest  of  the  Olym- 
pians ;  besides  the  nymphs  of  the  rivers  and  the  woods." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  their  history  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Not  much,"  she  said.  "  I  only  know  they  care  for 
us,  and  have  sometimes  been  seen  on  earth,  and  that  they 
hear  us  when  we  invoke  them." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?"  he  asked. 

"  My  father  told  me  so,"  she  replied,  with  a  wondering 
look. 

"  You  never,  then,  met  with  any  who  had  seen  or  heard 
them  ?"  he  rejoined. 

"  No,"  she  replied  ;  "  except,  perhaps,  in  dreams.  I 
have  had  dreams  of  them  myself,"  she- continued,  with 
some  hesitation. 

"  What  kinds  of  dreams  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  saw  the  mother  of  the  gods  once,"  she  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  casting  down  her  eyes  ;  "  seated  on  a  beautiful 
flowery  hill,  dressed  in  purple  like  the  Empress,  with  a 
face  like  my  mother's  on  the  cameo,  and  she  smiled  on  me 
very  graciously." 

He  smiled,  and  smoothed  her  hair  with  his  hand. 
You  do  not  think,  then,  that  the  immortal  gods  walk 
on  earth  now." 

"  Not  often,  I  think,"  she  said ;  "  but  they  used  to 
come  often,  you  know.  Do  yOu  not  wish  they  would 
come  again  ?" 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  he  replied,  rather  absently  ;  "  that  is, 


THE  TWO  MAIiTYIiS  OF  VERULAM.  37 

I  am  not  sure  about  all  of  them.  You  have  never,  then, 
read  their  histories  ?" 

"  No,"  she  replied ;  "  my  father  said  they  were  not 
written  in  a  way  for  young  girls  to  understand." 

"  Your  father,  no  doubt,  was  right,"  he  said. 

"  But  now  that  I  am  a  matron,"  resumed  Valeria,  in- 
quiringly, "  perhaps  I  ought  to  know  more  ?" 

"  I  hardly  think  so,"  he  replied,  drily  ;  "  you  seem  to 
me  to  know  enough." 

"  Then  there  are  the  Lares,"  she  resumed  ;  "  I  have  an 
especial  devotion  for  them,  Aurelius  ;  and  often  when  I 
crown  the  images  of  the  ancestors,  I  fancy  the  shade  of  my 
own  mother  may  be  hovering  near  and  smiling  on  me." 

"Do  the  shades  then  leave  the  fields  of  the  dea£ 
below  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  think  they  must,"  she  replied ;  "  because  some 
wicked  people  are  afraid  of  them,  you  know  ;  besides,  J 
have  certainly  seen  my  mother  in  a  dream.  Do  not  you 
think  so  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  replied ;  "  I  never  had  such  dreams. 
But  I  like  your  history  of  the  immortals  very  much." 

"  Is  it  not,  then,  the  same  as  yours  ?"  she  asked  simply, 
looking  up. 

"  We  are  both  Romans,"  he  replied,  evasively.  "Of 
course  our  gods  are  the  same.  What  do  you  pray  to  the 
immortal  gods  for  ?"  he  resumed. 

"  I  used  to  ask  them  to  protect  me  and  my  father,  and 
to  make  us  prosperous.  And  lately  I  have  asked  them 
more  than  all  to  be  favourable  to  you." 

"  But  suppose  the  immortal  gods  were  not  to  make  us 
prosperous,  Valeria  ?"  he  rejoined,  after  a  pause. 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  she  said. 

And  so  the  conversation  dropped. 


38  TEE  EARLY  DAWK 

Every  kind  of  prosperity  was  showered  on  that  house- 
hold. Health,  and  peace,  and  love  reigned  there.  Va- 
leria went  again  and  again  to  offer  her  sacrifices  of 
thanksgiving  in  the  Temple  of  the  Mother  of  the  Gods, 
bearing  her  infants  in  her  arms.  In  all  her  house  and 
in  all  her  life  there  seemed  no  shadow,  unless  it  might 
be  occasionally  on  the  thoughtful  brow  of  Aurelius. 
But  the  caresses  of  the  little  ones  seemed  able  even  to 
charm  that  away. 

And  yet  there  was  an  exception  that  sometimes  caused 
the  one  religious  perplexity  to  the  gentle  heart  to  Valeria. 

From  her  childhood  her  father  had  owned  a  British 
slave,  named  Gwendolin,  who  had  been  her  nurse,  had 
accompanied  her  to  the  house  of  her  husband,  and  had 
now  become  the  nurse  of  her  children. 

Kindly  treated,  she  had  served  her  young  mistress 
with  affectionate  fidelity.  But  there  was  a  settled  de- 
pression in  her  demeanour,  which  no  efforts  of  Valeria 
could  long  dissipate.  And  since  the  birth  of  the  children, 
Gwendolin  had  often  been  found  weeping  silently  as  she 
rocked  them  to  sleep,  whilst  sometimes  tears  would  even 
choke  the  low  lullabies  she  crooned  to  them  in  her  own 
wild  Celtic  tongue. 

At  length,  one  evening,  Valeria  questioned  her  why 
she  wept. 

"  I  have  sung  these  lullabies  by  the  cradles  of  other 
little  ones  before,"  sobbed  the  slave,  all  the  pent-up  feel- 
ing breaking  through  in  one  wild  burst  of  agony  ;  "  my 
own !  my  own  I" 

Valeria  gazed  in  wonder  at  the  weeping  woman,  as  if 
a  whole  new  unknown  world  had  opened  with  an  earth- 
quake beneath  her  feet. 

Gwendolin  had  been  to  her  the  faithful  slave,  the  ten- 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  39 

der  nurse,  an  appanage  and  portion  of  her  own  happy 
life  ;  and  now  she  sat  weeping  before  her,  a  woman,  a 
mother,  with  a  whole  hidden  life-history  of  her  own,  and 
that  a  history  of  sorrow  ! 

Valeria  had  little  comfort  to  offer.  She  could  only 
murmur, — 

"  The  immortal  gods  are  wise  and  mighty,  Gwendolin. 
We  must  submit." 

"  Your  gods !"  exclaimed  the  slave.  "  The  gods  of  your 
Rome ! — what  are  they  to  me  ?  Yes,  I  know  too  well 
that  they  are  mighty  ; — or,  at  least,  I  know  your  legions 
are  mighty.  Have  they  not  torn  from  me  husband, 
father, — all  I  had  ?  Have  I  not.  stood  in  your  Roman 
slave-market — I,  a  chieftain's  daughter,  and  a  chieftain's 
wife  ?  Have  I  not  seen  my  babes  sold  from  me  there  ? 
What  care  your  gods  for  me  ?" 

Valeria  was  silent.  She  did  not  clearly  know  whether 
this  was  blasphemy,  or  whether  it  was  not  true.  Differ- 
ent nations,  she  had  been  told,  had  different  gods ;  and 
she  felt  a  dim  sense  that  the  gods  of  the  conquered  could 
not  be  any  very  effectual  help.  She,  therefore,  fell  back 
on  the  power  of  human  sympathy. 

"  Gwendolin,"  she  said,  "  I  am  very  sorry  for  you.  If 
I  had  known,  I  would  not  have  had  you  torn  from  your 
home  for  the  world  I"  And  with  a  mother's  faith  in  the 
omnipotence  of  her  children's  love  to  soothe  and  cheer, 
she  added,  "  These  little  ones  shall  be  to  you,  as  far  as 
may  be,  as  your  own.  Have  not  you  been  as  a  mother 
to  me,  a  motherless  child  ?" 

Gwendolin 's  tears  fell  more  freely  and  less  bitterly. 
"  Yes,  you  are  very  good,"  she  replied.  "  Forgive  me  if 
I  seem  ungrateful ;  but  these  little  ones  were  different, — 
they  were  my  own.     I  had  a  right  to  their  love !" 


4o  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

Valeria  sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  and  then  she 
said — 

"  But  have  you  not  also  gods  whom  you  can  invoke  ? 
Have  not  your  dead  also  regions  where  they  meet  in  the 
lower  worlds  ?" 

"  What  do  I  know?"  Gwendolin  replied,  bitterly.  "  My 
people's  gods  have  not  saved  them  nor  me.  The  priest- 
hood of  my  race  is  gone,  slain  or  banished  far  by  your 
legions.  The  sacred  fires  glow  no  more  through  the 
midsummer  night ;  the  temples  are  silent ;  the  sacred 
groves  are  deserted.  No  longer  is  the  sacred  misletoe 
gathered,  with  the  golden  knife,  from  the  oak  by  moon- 
light, while  the  white  bulls  are  sacrificed  below.  And," 
she  murmured  in  a  low  voice,  "  no  more  do  the  cries  of 
the  conquered  rise  from  the  burning  piles,  to  propitiate 
the  spirits  of  our  dead  and  the  gods  of  our  race." 

"  Had  you,  then,  temples  ?"  asked  Valeria. 

"  Temples  to  which  your  little  buildings  of  brick  and 
shapen  stone  were  as  the  toys  of  children." 

"Where?" 

"  In  solitary  places — on  the  great  silent  hills — by  the 
sea-shore ;  huge  circles  of  unhewn  stone,  circle  within 
circle,  each  stone  in  itself  a  tower  ;  the  floor,  the  green 
herbage  •  the  roof,  the  great  sweep  of  heaven." 

"  And  you  had  sacrifices  ?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply  "  real  sacrifices !  Not  of  lambs 
only,  and  flowers,  and  heifers — suci  offerings  as  children 
might  bring — but  living  men !" 

"  Did  they  offer  themselves  willingly  ?"  asked  Valeria, 
shuddering. 

"  Willingly  !  No.  Sometimes,  indeed,  our  women 
chose  to  die  with  their  husbands  ;  as  who  would  not  who 
could  choose  ?     Our  warriors  brought  the  victims,  and 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  4i 

our  Druids  sacrificed  them.  Life  for  life  ;  human  blood 
for  human  blood.  What  do  the  gods  care  for  sheep,  and 
goats,  and  garlands  of  summer  flowers  ?" 

Valeria  shuddered. 

"  Your  gods  must  be  hard  to  please,"  she  said.  "  And 
what  welcome  do  they  give  your  dead  ?  " 

"  Who  among  the  dead  has  come  back  to  say  ?  v  replied 
Gwendolin,  bitterly.  "  Some  say  their  spirits  are  born 
again  in  other  bodies  ;  some,  that  they  wander  in  an  un- 
seen world  below,  where  all  debts  are  paid  and  all  crimes 
avenged.  But  I,"  she  said,  mournfully,  "  I,  a  slave  wo- 
man !  what  do  I  know  ?  " 

Then  they  fell  into  a  long  silence,  and  listened  to  the 
soft  breathing  of  the  children  as  they  slept. 

At  length  Valeria  said, — 

"  Why  did  you  never  tell  me  this  before,  Gwendolin  ?  " 

"I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you  now,"  was  the  reply. 
"The  words  "broke  from  my  heart  with  the  tears.  Do 
not  you  remember  Africanus  ?  " 

"  Africanus,  the  Christian  slave,  who  was  sent  to  the 
mines  for  blaspheming  the  immortal  gods  ?  " 

"  Yes,  lady.  Why  should  I  have  risked  his  fate  by 
speaking  to  you  of  the  gods  of  my  people  ?  " 

"But  that  is  quite  another  thing,"  said  Valeria. 
"  Your  gods  are  the  gods  of  your  race,  and  you  cannot 
help  it  if  your  race  is  not  mine.  But  Africanus,  my  father 
said,  was  of  an  abominable  sect,  who  blaspheme  the  gods 
of  all  nations,  and  want  every  one  to  worship  instead  a 
man  who  was  crucified  three  hundred  years  ago  in  Pal- 
estine. Crucified !  a  death  no  just  or  honourable  man 
ever  dies !  Besides,  my  father  says  the  Christians  are 
not  only  fanatical  and  impious  atheists,  but  they  are 
seditious  men,  and  have  a  net-work  of  secret  societies 


42  THE  EARL  T  DA  WW. 

throughout  the  empire,  endangering  everywhere  the 
public  peace." 

"  Africanus  seemed  a  harmless  creature,"  said  Gwen- 
dolin,  listlessly.  "  He  was  the  only  one  who  ever  cared 
to  speak  a  comforting  word  to  me." 

And  so  the  mistress  and  the  slave  talked  in  low  voices 
by  the  sleeping  children,  until  the  little  ones  awoke  and 
brought  back  their  thoughts  from  the  shadows  of  the 
past  and  the  invisible  ;  to  both  of  them  so  shadowy,  to 
Gwendolin  so  dark.  Kisses  on  soft,  baby  cheeks  nes- 
tled to  theirs — caresses  of  baby  arms — how  warm  and 
how  real  beside  those  cold  and  unseen  worlds !  Why 
had  they  wandered  thither  ?  Valeria  felt  as  if  awaking 
from  a  dark  and  troubled  dream. 

But,  for  Gwendolen,  one  whole  such  sunny,  woman's 
world  of  love  had  actually  faded  and  vanished  away  into 
that  land  of  shadows.  And  Valeria  could  not  shake  off 
from  her  a  sympathetic  sense  of  darkness  and  terror.  A 
shadow  had  been  thrown  over  the  present,  and  an  ele- 
ment of  perplexity  into  the  future,  which,  for  the  first 
time,  made  a  rent  in  the  small  perfect  world  of  her  life, 
rounded  off  with  its  own  green,  flowery  circle  of  earth, 
and  its  own  blue,  sunny  arch  of  sky.  She  began  to  have 
a  dim  perception  that  the  arch  of  heaven  was  something 
more  than  the  roof,  sun-lit  or  star-spangled,  of  her  home. 

Valeria  was  strictly  a  keeper  at  home.  It  was  there- 
fore quite  an  event  to  her  when,  one  bright  day  in  early 
May,  she  and  Gwendolin,  with  the  children — the  prat- 
tling boy  who  was  her  first-born,  and  the  baby-girl — set 
off  in  a  lectica  with  silken  curtains,  drawn  by  two  mules, 
with  her  husband  riding  beside  her,  and  an  escort  of 
armed  slaves,  to  pay  a  visit  to  an  old  friend  in  a  villa  on 
the  Thames,  near  the  station  of  London. 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  43 

With  an  eager  delight,  almost  as  great  as  her  boy's, 
she  pointed  out  to  him  the  white  and  red  cattle  grazing 
in  tli£  meadows  by  the  rivers  which  they  crossed.  Here 
and  there  Aurelius  pointed  out  to  her  the  scene  of  a  bat- 
tle, where,  in  days  now  past  by  three  or  four  generations, 
the  Britons  had  been  defeated  ;  and  she  saw  Gwendolin's 
face  grow  rigid,  and  turned  the  subject. 

Now,  along  the  firm  level  of  the  well-paved  Roman 
road  (the  well-known  Watling  Street)  on  which  they 
travelled,  there  was  nothing  to  remind  them  that  they 
were  not  travelling  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Rome  itself. 

The  people  they  met  for  the  most  part  returned  their 
Latin  salutations.  Roman  mile-stones  marked  the  dis- 
tances on  the  road.  The  British  chieftains  whom  they 
met  were  not  to  be  distinguished  by  their  dress  from  the 
conquerors.  In  the  recesses  of  the  forests  through  which 
their  way  sometimes  lay,  no  doubt  they  might  have  found 
native  herdsmen  ;  huts  and  villages  scarcely  reached  by 
the  slight  surface-culture  of  the  Latin  civilization.  But 
to  Valeria  the  journey  was  as  easy,  and  as  much  on  Ro- 
man ground  as  if  she  had  been  travelling  from  Rome  to 
Capua.  On  the  broken  heights  of  Hampstead  Heath, 
glowing  with  gorse  and  heather,  they  paused  to  look 
down  on  the  colony  of  London.  The  long  summer  day 
was  declining,  and  from  the  burning  sky  behind  them  soft 
rosy  lights  kindled  up  the  white  walls  and  temples  of  the 
city  in  the  valley  beneath — unconscious  cradle  of  the  me- 
tropolis of  an  empire  wide  as  that  of  Rome  itself.  The 
little  boy,  wakening  from  his  sleep,  laughed  to  see  the 
wild  birds  dipping  their  wings  in  the  pool  on  the  very 
ridge  of  the  height  as  it  shone  golden  in  the  sunlight ; 
and  to  watch  the  deer  which  had  come  to  drink,  bound- 
ing away  down  through  the  green  glades,  till  they  were 


44  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

lost  among  the  perspective  of  the  massive  trunks.  So 
they  descended  through  the  oak  woods  to  where  the 
Thames  reflected  on  its  broad  smooth  surface  Roman  tem- 
ples, baths,  and  porticoes,  through  an  air,  on  that  sum- 
mer evening,  clear  and  pure  as  that  of  Rome. 

The  experience  of  those  few  days — the  first  she  had 
ever  spent  from  under  her  father's  or  her  husband's  roof 
— was  as  an  earthquake  to  all  Valeria's  ideas  of  the 
world. 

If  her  conversation  with  Gwendolin  had  opened  her 
eyes  to  some  of  the  sorrows  of  life,  those  days  in  Lon- 
dinium  disclosed  to  her  the  sins  and  corruptions  of  the 
corrupt  society  amidst  which  she  had  been  innocently  and 
ignorantly  living,  in  a  way  which  appalled  and  disgusted 
her  beyond  utterance,  and  made  the  whole  ground  of  life 
seem  to  her  as  a  slippery  and  treacherous  ice  concealing 
an  abyss  of  foul  and  stagnant  waters. 

On  the  first  evening  after  her  return  to  her  home,  Au- 
relius  asked  how  she  had  enjoyed  her  visit. 

"  Oh,  Aurelius,"  she  said  with  a  quivering  lip,  "  let  me 
never  leave  my  home  again !  " 

"  Has  my  dove  been  so  terrified  by  this  one  flight  out 
of  her  nest?" 

"  Of  course  I  was  safe  with  you,"  she  said  ;  "  but  the 
world  is  too  wicked  !  The  theatres,  it  was  an  insult  to 
have  been  asked  to  go  and  hear  what  was  said  there ! 
But  the  houses  and  the  very  temples  seem  no  better,  and 
they  even  venture  to  tell  scandalous  stories  of  the  immor- 
tal gods ! " 

"  These  things  are  not  new,  Valeria,"  she  replied  ;  "  and 
at  Rome  they  are  worse." 

"  But  who  dared  to  invent  evil  things  concerning  the 
gods,  as  if  they  also  lived  not  to  do  what  is  right,  but 


TEE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM. 


45 


what  is  pleasant  for  the  moment ;■  and  as  if  they  made  no 
distinction  between  the  wicked  and  the  good  ?  Of  what 
avail  would  immortality  be  if  the  next  world  is  to  be 
such  as  this,  and  if  the  very  gods  were  not  as  good  as 
virtuous  men  ?  Aurelius,"  she  asked  suddenly  and  pas- 
sionately, "  what  do  you  believe  ?" 

He  paused  a  few  minutes. 

"  I  think,"  he  then  replied,  "  that  the  infinite  and  the 
divine  exist  in  the  world  opposed  to  the  blind  force  of 
matter  and  of  nature.  I  think  also  that  spirit  is  eternal, 
and  that  in  some  form  or  other,  all  that  is  spiritual  in  us 
must,  therefore,  ever  continue  to  exist." 

"  But  is  that  all  ?  "  she  said  with  a  shudder.  "  You 
think.  I  want  to  know.  I  want,  not  '  the  divine/  Aure- 
lius,  but  a  God.  I  want  not  to  exist  on  as  the  air  does,  I 
know  not  how  or  where  ;  but  to  live  on  with  you,  and 
my  father,  and  the  children." 

"  Live  on  then  now,  my  beloved,"  he  said,  with  mourn- 
ful tenderness.  "  Have  you  not  me,  and  your  father,  and 
the  little  ones  ?  Why  should  we  not  hope  that  to-mor- 
row, and  to-morrow,  and  countless  to-morrows  will  be  as 
bright  for  us  as  to-day  ?  " 

"  I  think  of  Gwendolin,"  she  said,  sighing.  "  What 
compensation  have  the  morrows  brought  to  her  ?  " 

Then  suddenly  changing  the  subject,  she  said,  "  Aure- 
lius,  what  are  those  Christians  ?  They  seem  everywhere. 
They  spoke  in  London  of  their  being  persecuted,  tortured, 
imprisoned,  slain  in  every  region  of  the  empire,  and  yet 
springing  up  everywhere  as  if  they  were  indestructible  ; 
and,"  she  added  with  some  hesitation,  "  one  morning 
early,  as  I  was  returning  from  the  temple  I  heard  low 
sweet  singing  in  a  house  which  I  passed.  I  stopped  to 
listen,  and  the  words  were  something  like  this, '  Glory  in 


46  TEE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

the  highest  to  God,  and  on  earth  peace,  goodwill  among 
men/  and  then  followed  praises  to  the  '  heavenly  King, 
the  Father  who  ruleth  all/  and  strangely  blended  with 
these  were  words  which  seemed  to  me  very  lofty  and 
beautiful,  were  praises  of  Jesus  Christ,  whom  they  seemed 
to  call  the  Son  of  God,  and  to  speak  of  as  '  sitting  on  the 
right  hand  of  the  Father.'  What  did  it  mean  ?  There 
was  a  sacredness  and  solemnity  in  their  way  of  singing, 
which  seemed  so  different  from  the  careless  levity  of 
those  in  the  temple  I  had  just  left.  Aurelius,  tell  me 
more  about  these  Christians.  Are  they  really  so  bad  ? 
Since  much  I  thought  good  seems  so  evil,  may  not  they 
be  better  than  I  thought  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  bad,  I  think,"  he  said,  perhaps  not  even 
dangerous  to  the  state,  but  only  fanatical  and  supersti- 
tious— '  infructuosi  in  negqtio,  in  publico  muti,  in  angulis 
garruli/  "  he  added,  quoting  an  opinion  of  his  time.  "  I 
have  two  books  about  them  by  the  learned  Lucian  and 
Celsus.  If  you  like  I  will  read  you  some  things  that 
these  authors  say." 

From  a  little  niche  with  carved  cedar  doors  he  drew 
two  manuscripts,  unrolled  them,  laid  his  hand  on  the  pas- 
sages, and  read.    Lucian  says, — 

"They  (the  Christians)  still  worship  that  great  man 
who  was  crucified  in  Palestine,  because  it  was  he  who  in- 
troduced into  human  life  the  initiation  into  these  new 
mysteries.  These  miserable  creatures  have  persuaded 
themselves  that  they  are  immortal,  and  will  live  for  ever. 
For  this  reason  they  despise  death  itself,  and  many  even 
give  themselves  up  to  it.  But  again,  their  first  lawgiver 
has  persuaded  them  that  as  soon  as  they  have  broken 
loose  from  the  prevailing  customs,  and  denied  the  gods 
of  Greece,  reverencing  in  their  stead  their  own  crucified 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  47 

teacher,  and  living  after  his  laws,  they  stand  to  each 
other  in  the  relation  of  brothers.  Thus  they  are  led  to 
hold  everything  equally  in  contempt,  to  consider  as  pro- 
fane whatever  does  not  agree  with  their  own  notions, 
which,  however,  they  have  adopted  without  any  sufficient 
warrant." 

And  Celsus  writes,  "  They  refuse  to  give  reasons  for 
what  they  believe,  but  are  ever  repeating, '  Do  not  exam- 
ine, only  believe  ;  thy  faith  will  make  thee  blessed.  Wis- 
dom is  a  bad  thing  in  life,  foolishness  is  good.  Let  no 
educated,  no  wise  man  approach,  but  whoever  is  ignorant 
and  uneducated,  whoever  is  like  a  child,  let  him  come 
and  be  comforted.' "  And  again,  "  Those  who  invite  us 
to  be  initiated  into  the  mysteries  of  other  religions  begin 
by  proclaiming,  '  Let  him  draw  near  who  is  pure  from 
all  stains,  who  is  conscious  of  no  wickedness,  who  has 
lived  a  good  and  upright  life/  This  is  their  proclama- 
tion who  promise  purification  from  sins.  But  let  us  hear 
the  invitation  of  those  Christians, '  Whoever  is  a  sinner? 
they  cry, '  whoever  is  foolish,  is  unlettered,  in  a  word, 
tvhoever  is  wretched,  him  will  the  kingdom  of  God  receive.' " 

"  Quite  a  fanatical  set  of  people,  you  see,  my  love,"  ob- 
served Aurelius,  laying  aside  the  manuscripts,  "  at  once 
base  and  proud,  contemptible,  and  despising  others  ;  with 
some  good  ideas,  no  doubt,  borrowed  from  philosophy, 
but  not  at  all  people  we  could  wish  to  learn  of." 

"I  see,"  replied  Valeria,  with  some  disappointment, 
awed  into  acquiescence  by  the  double  authority  of  her 
husband  and  of  a  written  book,  "  they  must  be  very  pre- 
sumptuous and  foolish.  But,"  she  added  musingly,  "  it 
does  seem  as  if  it  were  a  religion  that  might  do  for 
Gwendolin.  With  so  many  temples  for  the  prosperous, 
and  so  many  philosophies  for  the  wise,  perhaps  the  im- 


48  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

mortal  gods  may  have  meant  that  there  shall  at  last  be 
one  religion  for  the  wretched  and  the  unlettered.  I  won- 
der if  this  Christianity  might  comfort  the  slaves." 

Valeria  had  brought  back  other  reminiscences  from 
Londinium  besides  that  dark  glimpse  into  the  world. 

A  pestilence  had  broken  out  there  before  their  depart- 
ure, and  a  week  after  their  return  to  Verulam  the  mother 
and  the  slave  sat  watching  by  the  sick-beds  of  the  two 
little  children. 

The  little  rosy  faces  were  flushed  with  fever,  the  bright 
eyes  were  wandering  and  meaningless,  the  hot  lips,  but 
yesterday  fresh  as  dewy  rosebuds,  moaned  incessantly, 
and  the  little  arms  that  used  to  cling  so  tenderly  tossed 
restlessly  about  in  helpless  entreaty. 

Night  and  day  the  mother  watched  and  prayed  to  the 
immortals,  and  tried  every  remedy  she  could  hear  of,  but, 
one  by  one,  she  saw  every  effort  to  relieve  the  little  suf- 
ferers fail,  until  at  last  the- mother's  passionate  struggle 
with  death  ceased.  The  infant  lay  lifeless  in  its  cradle, 
the  boy  lay  dying  on  his  mother's  knee. 

Valeria  would  not  have  the  precious  remains  reduced 
to  ashes.  Wrapped  in  these  holiday  garments  she  had 
woven  for  them  and  so  often  dressed  them  in  with  kisses 
and  laughter  in  the  happy  days  gone  by,  she  laid  them  in 
little  wooden  coffins,  such  as  many  of  the  native  Britons 
used,  and  had  them  enshrined  in  a  marble  mausoleum  in 
a  garden  by  the  river,  near  the  town. 

For  many  weeks  she  utterly  refused  all  sympathy,  not 
with  bitter  words,  but  in  silent  irresponsive  despair. 
No  words  penetrated  into  the  heart  of  her  grief.  She 
had  no  hope,  and  she  sought  no  comfort.  Her  grief  was 
the  dearest  thing  she  had  left,  for  it  was  all  that  remained 
to  her  of  her  joy. 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  YERULAM.  49 

She  made  no  visits  to  the  temples.  The  household 
gods  remained  uncrowned.  No  libations  and  prayers 
turned  her  bread  of  tears  into  sacrifices  and  feasts.  But 
daily,  morning  and  evening,  she  visited  the  tomb  of  her 
lost  darlings,  and  garlanded  it  with  flowers,  and  perfumed 
it  with  "ointments  very  precious."  She  had  no  hope 
even  there  ;  the  fair  precious  limbs  she  knew  would  per- 
ish— were  perishing — into  undistinguishable  dust;  but 
she  had  nothing  besides. 

Sometimes  her  husband  went  with  her,  and  more  than 
once  he  said,  "  My  beloved,  is  not  this  sorrow  also  mine  ?" 
She  admitted  his  right  to  weep  with  her,  but  still  in  spirit 
she  wept  alone.  Despair  knows  not  participation.  The 
world  was  for  Aurelius  ;  but  her  world  had  been  those 
little  ones,  and  they  were  gone,  for  ever  and  for  ever 
gone. 

Nor  did  this  grief  bind  her  more  to  Gwendolin.  It 
brought  them  nearer  indeed  to  a  level,  but  not  nearer 
each  other.  With  the  selfishness  of  hopeless  sorrow, 
Valeria  shrank  with  uncontrollable  dread  from  that 
widowed  and  desolate  woman,  as  if  she  had  been  the 
evil  genius  of  the  house  ;  whilst  Gwendolin,  in  her  heart, 
bitterly  compared  the  grief  which  still  left  Valeria  so 
much,  with  her  own  utter  desolation. 

At  length  one  day  her  father  felt  it  necessary  gently 
to  reprove  her  grief. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  "  thou  art  not  the  first  who  has 
known  sorrow.  The  immortal  gods  live  still  and  are 
almighty.  We  must  bow  to  their  decree.  Does  not  the 
supreme  Jove  himself  bow  to  the  decree  of  Destiny  ?" 

"  I  do  bow,"  she  replied,  "  who  can  help  it  ?    But  I 
cannot  pray.     Of  what  avail  is  it  ?    Will  the  gods  bring 
me  back  my  dead  ?     Or  can  they  ?" 
3 


!>° 


THE  EARLY  DAWN. 


"  But  think,"  he  said,  "  have  they  nothing  more  to 
take?" 

"  Father,"  she  replied  with  a  calm  bitterness,  "  when 
they  please  they  will  take  all  I  have.  I  know  it.  I  can- 
not move  them.  I  do  not  say  they  are  cruel,  and  you 
say  they  are  wise  ;  but  if  the  supreme  Jove  himself  can- 
not turn  back  or  anticipate  the  decree  of  Destiny,  why 
should  I  pray  to  him  ?  I  might  as  well  seek  to  stop  the 
wheels  of  Fate  with  my  feeble  hands  as  with  my  pray- 
ers." 

"But  the  gods  have  their  rights,"  he  replied,  "and 
whether  it  avails  or  not,  we  must  render  them  their  due." 

"  Father,"  she  replied,  "  I  will  obey.  But  do  not  ask 
me  to  pray." 

Thenceforth  she  repaired  with  offerings  to  the  temples 
as  of  old,  and  garlanded  the  household  gods ;  and  the 
old  man  was  satisfied.  But  one  bright,  warm  summer 
evening,  when  the  twilight  brightened  longest  on  into 
the  night,  on  the  21st  of  June,  as  she  and  Gwendolin 
were  returning  from  the  garden  in  which  was  that  pre- 
cious tomb,  the  city  was  in  a  iumult,  and  Aurelius  came 
to  guard  them  through  the  excited  crowd. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Amphibalus,  a  Christian  priest,  has  been  found  con- 
cealed in  the  house  of  Alban,"  he  said,  "  and  Alban  has 
assumed  the  Christian's  clothes,  and  given  himself  up  to 
punishment  instead  of  his  guest." 

"  Were  they  strangers  to  each  other  ?"  asked  Valeria. 

"  Until  these  last  few  days  it  seems  they  were  ;  but 
now  both  are  Christians ;  and  no  Christians  are  strangers 
to  each  other,  but  brothers,  for  the  sake  of  Him  who 
died  in  Palestine." 

"  I  remember,"  she  said,  "  that  was  what  you  read  me 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERTJLAM. 


5* 


from  the  book.  But  Alban  was  a  worshipper  of  the 
gods.     I  have  seen  nim  in  the  temples  with  his  parents." 

"  He  has  become  a  Christian." 

"  How  ?  who  persuaded  him  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  he  replied  rather  carelessly.  "  These 
Christians  have  great  powers  of  persuasion."  But  Aure- 
lius  himself  was  infected  with  Valeria's  interest.  Since 
the  death  of  the  children  she  had  scarcely  asked  a  spon- 
taneous question,  or  cared  to  listen  to  any  tidings.  He 
hailed  her  curiosity  as  a  sign  of  returning  life,  and  took 
pains  to  procure  her  all  the  information  he  could. 

In  the  evening,  after  making  inquiries  in  the  town,  he 
returned  to  her,  and  said,  "  It  seems  that  this  guest  of 
Alban's  was,  in  his  way,  a  good  and  devout  man,  and  the 
young  host  was  much  struck  by  the  time  he  spent  in 
prayer,  both  night  and  day,  especially  as  those  Christians 
have  no  images,  but  kneel  down  and  speak  aloud,  as  if  to 
some  one  who,  though  unseen  to  others,  was  visible  to 
them.  Alban  entered  into  conversation  with  his  guest, 
and  at  length  gave  himself  to  his  teaching,  and  became 
a  worshipper  of  his  God." 

"  What  will  they  do  to  him  ?"  asked  Valeria. 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  was  the  reply.  "  Our  rulers  in 
Britain  are  tolerant  to  all,  but  the  decrees  of  the  emperors 
are  very  severe,  and  this  young  man  refuses  to  sacrifice." 

"You  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  punishing  him!" 
said  Valeria  eagerly. 

"  I  have  no  need,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  not  the  gov- 
ernor." 

"  But  my  father  need  not  imbrue  his  hands  in  the  blood 
of  this  youth,"  she  said.     "  What  evil  has  he  done  ?" 

"  If  there  is  an  execution,"  he  replied,  "  your  father,  as 
an  officer  of  the  legion,  must  be  present." 


K2  THE  EARLY  DAWK. 

The  morrow  dawned.  m 

The  martyr  was  brought  before  the  governor,  and 
after  being  reprimanded  for  concealing  a  sacrilegious 
and  seditious  person,  was  required  to  sacrifice. 

He  steadfastly  refused. 

"  Then,"  said  the  judge,  "  of  what  family  or  race  are 
you?" 

"  What  does  it  concern  you  of  what  stock  I  am  ?"  the 
young  man  replied  (probably  seeking  not  to  implicate  his 
kindred)..  "If  you  desire  to  hear  the  truth  of  my  re- 
ligion, be  it  known  to  you  that  I  am  now  a  Christian, 
and  bound  by  Christian  duties." 

"  I  ask  your  name,  not  your  religion,"  said  the  judge  ; 
"  tell  it  me  immediately." 

"  I  am  called  Alban  by  my  parents,"  he  replied  ;  "  and 
I  worship  and  adore  the  true  and  living  God,  who  cre- 
ated all  things." 

Then  the  judge,  sternly  interrupting  him,  commanded 
him  to  delay  no  longer  to  sacrifice  to  the  great  gods. 

Alban. rejoined,  "These  sacrifices,  which  by  you  are 
offered  to  devils,  can  neither  benefit  the  subjects,  nor 
answer  the  desires  of  those  who  offer  up  their  supplica- 
tions faf  them.  On  the  contrary,  whosoever  shall  offer 
to  these  images  shall  receive  everlasting  pains  for  his 
reward." 

"  He  called  the  immortal  gods  devils !"  exclaimed 
Valeria,  as  her  husband  related  this  to  her.  "  Yet  was 
not  what  he  said  about  prayer  too  true,  Aurelius  ?" 

He  was  silent. 

"  The  prayers  of  the  Christians  do  not,  at  all  events, 
seem  to  save  them  from  suffering,"  he  said  at  length. 

"Perhaps  they  ask  for  something  else,"  she  said 
thoughtfully.    "You  say  they  seem  so  willing  to  die! 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  53 

Perhaps  they  ask  for  things  in  the  other  world.  But, 
Aurelius,  do  they  all  call  the  gods  devils  ?  Perhaps," 
she  added  doubtfully,  "  they  are  thinking  of  the  dreadful 
things  I  heard  about  the  Olympians  at  Londinium." 

"  Probably,"  he  said  absently. 

"  What  will  they  do  to  him  ?" 

"  He  will  be  scourged,  and  probably  then  beheaded." 

"When?" 

"To-day." 

"  And  where  ?" 

"  On  the  wooded  hill  across  the  river." 

All  day  Valeria  watched  from  her  upper  chamber  in 
the  tower  of  the  house,  which  looked  over  the  town  and 
the  river,  towards  the  hill,  to  see  what  would  happen. 
Towards  evening  the  bridge  became  crowded,  and  shQ 
saw  a  solitary  figure  ford  the  little  stream  near  it.  The 
crowd  gathered  round  him  when  he  reached  the  opposite 
bank,  and  all  went  up  the  hill  together.  There  was  an 
eager  buzz  and  murmur,  succeeded  by  loud,  tumultuous 
shouts,  and  then  by  a  dead  silence.  After  that,  soldiers, 
citizens,  women,  and  children,  came  slowly  down  the  hill 
again.  But  there  was  no  noise.  An  awe  seemed  to  have 
Jfallen  upon  all ;  and  in  the  dusk  Valeria  thought  she  saw 
two  bodies  borne  across  the  bridge.  The  people  returned 
silently  to  their  homes  through  the  streets,  as  if  from 
burying  their  own  dead. 

Soon  afterwards  she  heard  her  father's  voice  in  the 
house  below — the  silent  house,  where  now  no  little  ring- 
ing voices  echoed. 

The  old  man  was  strangely  moved.  "  I  have  heard  of 
these  things,"  he  said,  "  but  it  is  another  thing  to  see. 
That  boy  died  with  the  firmness  of  a  senator  of  old 
Rome.     But  with  a  joy,"  lie  added,  "  that  seems  to  me 


54  THE  EARL T  DA  WN. 

something  beyond !  These  men  do  indeed  believe  they 
are  immortal." 

"  Were  there  not  two  bodies  borne  across  the  bridge  ?" 
asked  Valeria. 

"  Yes ;  these  doctrines  penetrate  everywhere.  The 
very  executioner  refused  his  office,  and  chose  rather  to 
die  as  a  Christian  with  the  condemned.  And  indeed,  if 
what  supported  that  boy  in  death  were  true,  perhaps  he 
could  not  have  done  better." 

"  Father,"  said  Valeria,  laying  her  hands  in  his,  "  would 
it  not  be  well  to  see  if  this  doctrine  can  be  true  ?  Every- 
thing else  seems  so  dim  and  so  uncertain !" 

"  My  child,  it  is  death  to  believe  this.  Death  even  for 
thee  !     The  edicts  spare  none." 

"Death  spares  none !"  she  said  mournfully ;  "  and  if 
this  immortal  life  should  indeed  be  certain,  and  we  could 
only  know  it !  Aurelius,"  she  said,  as  he  came  in,  "  I 
want  to  know  more  of  this  religion  which  speaks  to  the 
wretched,  and  makes  men  to  whom  life  might  be  dear 
rejoice  to  die." 

"  It  is  a  perilous  inquiry  now,"  he  replied.  "  And 
what  can  any  tell  us,  more  than  you  learned  from  your 
early  ancestral  faith :  that  the  virtuous  dead  exist  in 
unmolested  tranquillity  on  the  shores  of  the  blessed  ?" 

"  That  was  enough  for  me  once,"  she  said,  "  before  the 
babes  had  been  taken  thither  from  my  bosom.  Before 
that  dreadful  day,  those  shadoAvy  shores  seemed  real 
enough.  But  now  that  those  precious  ones  are  there — 
those  darlings  that  have  nestled  to  my  heart  and  smiled 
into  my  eyes — all  seems  dim,  empty,  and  unutterably  cold 
and  dark.  It  is  not  so  much  even  of  immortality  I  want 
to  be  assured,  as  of  some  immortal  beings  who  are  there 
on  those  shadowy  shores,  to  warm  that  cold  world  with 


TEE  TWO  MARTYM8  OF  VEBULAM.  55 

their  presence — to  take  my  little  ones  by  the  hand,  from 
my  heart  to  theirs,  until  I  may  go  to  them.  The  immor- 
tal gods  are  on  Olympus.  If  I  could  only  learn  of  some 
god  who  welcomed  the  dead,  and  would  be  the  sunshine 
of  the  worlds  below.  Without  that,  what  is  immortality 
itself  but  a  blank  abyss,  without  light  or  limit  ?  It  is 
not  enough  for  me  even  to  hear, '  Thy  babes  still  exist/ 
I  want  a  voice  I  could  trust,  to  say, '  Thy  babes  live  with 
me.1 " 

"  But  how  will  you  learn  this  from  the  Christians  ?  " 
Aurelius  asked. 

"  I  have  heard,"  she  said,  "  that  some  of  the  sufferers 
speak  of  death  as  '  going  to  be  with  Christ ; '  and  I  should 
like  to  know  what  that  means.  Aurelius,  can  no  one 
teach  us  ?  " 

"  They  have  sacred  books/7  he  replied ;  and  almost 
glad  to  see  Yaleria  once  more  interested  in  any  subject, 
however  perilous,  the  next  day  he  brought  her  a  Gospel 
of  St.  John,  and  deposited  the  dangerous  treasure  in  the 
niche  with  cedar  doors,  beside  the  volumes  of  Lucian 
and  Celsus.  By  that  time  the  enemies  of  Christianity 
had  discovered  that  its  strength  lay  in  those  mysterious 
sacred  books  ;  and  the  persecution  of  Diocletian  was 
distinguished  from  all  preceding  ones  by  the  search  for 
these  prohibited  Scriptures,  to  ensure  their  destruction. 

Evening  after  evening,  when  all  was  quiet  in  the  house 
and  in  the  town,  Aurelius  spread  the  roll  on  his  knee  and 
read,  while  Yaleria,  forgetting  her  distaff,  sat  on  a  cushion 
at  his  feet  and  listened  ;  and  her  father,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  was  rivetted  by  any  writing,  not  an  imperial 
edict,  or  a  record  of  military  achievement. 

For  some  time  they  made  few  observations.  Aurelius 
was  the  first  who  seemed  to  grow  uneasy.     On  the  second 


56  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

night,  after  reading  the  interview  with  Nicodemus,  and 
with  the  woman  of  Samaria,  he  said, — 

"  It  is  what  I  thought.  A  blending  of  the  later  Pla- 
tonism  with  some  mystical  Jewish  ideas." 

"  But,"  said  Valeria,  eagerly,  "  it  is  Platonic  doctrine 
brought  down  to  me  I  I  could  never  understand  your 
Platonism,  but  I  seem  to  understand  this.  See,  it  speaks 
not  of  the  Divine  and  the  Infinite,  but  of  a  Son  of  God, 
who  was  also  a  Son  of  man,  and  dwelt  among  us,  and 
healed  the  sick,  and  answered  quite  plainly  and  simply 
all  those  who  came  to  learn  of  him,  even  that  poor,  lonely 
woman ! " 

But  when  they  came  to  the  parable  of  the  Good  Shep- 
herd, her  large  dark  eyes  opened  with  an  expression  of 
wondering  joy,  and  she  said  in  a  low,  deep  voice, — 

"  Now  I  understand  it  all ! n 

And  taking  off  her  signet  ring  she  kissed  it  reverently. 

It  was  an  intaglio  of  a  shepherd  carrying  a  lamb  in 
his  bosom. 

"  Aurelius,"  she  said,  "  this  is  Christ !  And  the  lambs 
must  mean  the  little  children..  Father/'  she  exclaimed, 
solemnly,  "  this  ring  was  my  mother's  I  Was  she  then  a 
Christian  ?  " 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  he  replied  with  some  hesitation. 
"  She  died  among  strangers  in  a  strange  city,  while  I  was 
with  the  army.  Christian  women  nursed  her ;  for  she 
died  of  a  pestilence,  of  which  none  else  would  risk  the 
infection.  And  after  her  death  they  sent  me  this  ring 
as  her  last  memorial.  I  could  not  tell  what  gloomy  su- 
perstitions might  have  seized  on  the  dying,  and  I  never 
heard  anything  more." 

"  But  this  is  not  a  gloomy  superstition !"  Valeria  said. 
The  old  man  made  no  opposition,  and  Aurelius  read  on. 


THE  TWO  MARTYBS  OF  VERTJLAM.  57 

Sentence  by  sentence  the  divine  words  sank  into  that 
childlike  and  broken  heart ;  until  when  Aurelius  came  to 
the  words,  "  Blessed  are  those  that  have  not  seen,  and 
yet  have  believed,"  she  clasped  her  hands,  and  looking 
up  to  him  with  a  smile,  such  as  he  had  not  seen  on  her 
face  since  their  babes  were  smitten,  she  said, — 

"  See,  there  is  a  message  left  exactly  for  us.  We  have 
not  seen,  and  we  will  believe ! " 

"  You  believe  ?  n  he  said  doubtfully. 

"  How  can  I  help  it  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  is  exactly  what 
I  want,  what  every  one  must  want,  and  what  no  one  ever 
thought  of  before.  Is  it  not  all  that  all  men  have  always 
been  longing  for  ;  and  yet  what  no  man  ever  discovered  ? 
Whence  then  could  this  message  come  but  from  heaven  ; 
from  Him  who  knows  ?     Father,  is  it  not  so  ?J; 

"  The  character  of  Christ  is  very  wonderful,"  said  the 
old  man.  "  Severe  as  a  Roman  of  the  noble  old  times 
against  falsehood  and  injustice  ;  tender  as  a  woman  to 
the  suffering  of  others,  yet  uncomplaining  as  Regulus 
amidst  suffering  of  his  own !  If  God  is  like  this,"  he 
continued,  "  heaven  is  worth  dying  for  ;  and  if  man  can 
be  made  like  this,  life  is  better  worth  living,  than  in  late 
evil  years  I  have  thought." 

Much  yet  remained,  however,  before  Valerius  and  Au- 
relius would  yield  up  the  prejudices  of  years.  Intellec- 
tual pride  in  Valerius  struggled  long  against  a  religion 
which  denounced  all  intellectual  caste,  and  admitted  all 
on  equal  grounds,  only  as  little  children.  Pride  of  a  pure 
life,  and  an  honest  dread  of  confounding  the  stern  dis- 
tinctions between  right  and  wrong,  repelled  the  old  sol- 
dier from  a  Gospel  which  received  none,  except  on  their 
knees,  as  penitent  sinners. 

It  was  only  gradually,  through  a  continuous  study  of 
3* 


58  THE  KARL  Y  DA  WN. 

the  sacred  writings,  that  the  vision  of  the  truth  revealed 
in  them  rose  and  expanded  before  the  mind  of  Aurelius,  un- 
til he  learned  to  rejoice  in  bowing  as  a  little  child  before  a 
wisdom,  beside  which  all  other  wisdom  seemed  but  as  the 
chance  guesses  of  children,  or  the  dim  gropings  of  men 
half  blind.  He  comprehended  at  length  that  when  the 
Son  of  God  requires  men  to  become  as  little  children,  he 
does  not  do  so  that  they  may  be  dwarfed  and  stunted  ; 
but  that  laying  aside  all  the  follies  of  precocious  man- 
hood, they  may  grow  to  be  truly  men. 

And  gradually,  through  those  same  Scriptures,  the 
ideal  of  holiness  rose  and  expanded  before  the  conscience 
of  Valerius,  until  he  listened  with  a  gratitude  as  great  as 
that  of  any  publican  to  the  words,  "  I  came  not  to  call 
the  righteous,  but  sinners  to  repentance." 

It  seemed  very  strange  to  Valeria  that  Gwendolin, 
who  seemed  of  all  to  need  the  words  of  divine  comfort 
most,  was  the  slowest  to  receive  them. 

"  The  more  I  want  it  to  be  true,"  she  said,  "  the  more 
afraid  I  am  that  it  may  not  be."  She  wondered  why,  if 
it  was  indeed  true,  God  had  been  so  long  in  sending  the 
Comforter  to  a  world  so  steeped  in  wretchedness  and 
crime.  Sorrow  to  her  had  been  an  embittering  and  har- 
dening pressure.  There  was  a  kind  of  desolate  pride 
in  the  isolation  and  completeness  of  her  griefs  ;  and  it 
was  long  before  she  could  admit  the  ideas  of  love  and 
joy.  At  length,  when  the  Gospel  reached  her,  it  was  not 
so  much  as  a  refuge  from  sorrow  as  a  deliverance  from 
sin.  It  was  not  so  much  with  the  cry,  "  I  have  suffered, 
■ — heal  me!"  as  with  the  confession,  " I  have  sinned, — 
forgive  me  !  "  that  this  lost  sheep  came  back.  "  I  have 
hated,  envied,  and  despised  all  the  happy.  I  have  hated 
and  resisted  Thee ! "  she  learned  at  last  to  say,  with  peni- 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM. 


59 


tent,  child-like  tears.  And,  being  forgiven,  she  grew  to 
believe  she  might  yet  be  blessed.  It  was  long  before  the 
rain  and  dew  from  heaven  could  penetrate  that  parched 
and  dried-up  heart ;  but  when  once  the  softening  influence 
was  felt,  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  never  receive  enough  ; 
and  the  transformation  was  more  manifest  in  her  than  in 
any  of  the  rest, — as  from  the  desert  to  the  garden  of  the 
Lord. 

Years  passed  on.  The  persecution  (which  had  on  the 
whole  fallen  but  lightly  on  Britain)  ceased.  The  empe- 
rors, who  had  triumphantly  added  to  their  other  titles 
the  glory  of  "  having  destroyed  the  Christian  name  and 
superstition  throughout  the  east  and  west/'  confessed  at 
length  that  their  "benign  efforts  to  bring  the  Christians 
back  to  the  religion  of  their  fathers  had  failed,"  and  that 
henceforth,  "provided  they  -done" nothing  contrary  to 
Roman  discipline,  they  might  continue  to  hold  their  as- 
semblies ; "  and  concluded  with  exhorting  them,  after  ex- 
periencing this  proof  of  imperial  indulgence,  to  pray  to 
God  "  for  our  prosperity,  and  for  their  own." 

Other  children  were  born  to  gladden  the  hearts  and 
home  of  Aurelius  and  Valeria.  But  the  little  tomb  in 
the  garden  by  the  river  Yer  continued  to  be  the  sacred 
spot  of  the  household.  The  little  ones  were  early  taught 
to  garland  it  with  flowers,  and  to  anoint  it  with  perfumes, 
according  to  the  Christian  customs  of  those  times ;  for 
the  mother  had  learned  that  the  dust  of  her  beloved  was 
precious,  not  merely  as  a  sacred  relic,  but  as  an  immor- 
tal seed  of  life  ;  and  none  of  the  prevalent  controversies 
concerning  the  destinies  of  unbaptized  infants  could  shake 
her  simple  trust  in  the  Good  Shepherd  who,  she  was  per- 
suaded, had  carried  her  lambs  home  in  His  bosom. 

What  that  tomb  was  to  her,  the  death-place  of  the  mar- 


60  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

tyr  Alban  became  to  the  whole  Church  at  Verulam. 
Solemnly,  on  festival  days,  the  little  Christian  band  went 
across  the  bridge,  and  up  the  wooded  slopes  of  the  oppo- 
site hill,  "  adorned,  or  rather  clothed,  with  all  kinds  of 
flowers,  having  its  sides  neither  perpendicular  nor  even 
craggy,  but  sloping  down  into  a  beautiful  plain,  worthy, 
from  its  lovely  appearance,  to  be  the  scene  of  a  martyr's 
sufferings."  There,  in  a  green  forest-glade,  on  the  crown 
of  the  hill  (afterwards  called  Holmehurst,  or  the  Woody 
Place),  those  early  Christians  delighted  to  meet,  and  to 
chant  the  praises  of  Him  to  whom  their  city  had  sent 
one  of  her  sons  to  join  the  noble  army  of  His  martyrs. 
And  there  also,  probably,  they  gave  thanks  that  the  last 
persecution  had  swept  over  the  Church,  and  the  last  mar- 
tyr-blood had  stained  the  land. 


More  than  twelve  hundred  years  passed  over  the  mar- 
tyr's grave  on  the  hill,  and  with  them  swept  away  Ro- 
mans, Britons, — even  the  Roman  Empire  itself, — burying 
not  only  the  inhabitants,  but  the  very  walls  and  dwellings 
of  Yerulam. 

On  the  woody  slopes,  up  which  the  martyr  had  gone 
to  his  death,  rose  the  houses  of  a  new  city,  called  by  his 
name  ;  and  the  crest  of  the  hill  where  he  suffered  was 
crowned  by  an  abbey,  believed  to  be  made  doubly  sacred 
by  the  presence  of  his  relics. 

Yet  up  that  hill  once  more  a  martyr  was  to  be  led  to 
die  ;  and  once  more  the  authority  by  whose  bidding  he 
was  to  suffer  claimed  its  sanction  from  Rome. 

Early  one  summer  morning  little  Margery  Joyce  and 
her  widowed  mother  were  rambling  on  the  banks  of  the 
river  Yer,  just  below  the  old  town  of  St.  Albans, — the 
mother  culling  medicinal  herbs,  and  the  child  as  busy 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  6\ 

gathering  wild  flowers,  which  she  was  skilled  in  making 
into  posies,  to  sell,  and  so  eke  out  their  scanty  living. 
When  the  sun  began  to  rise  high,  they  rested,  to  take 
their  mid-day  meal  of  bread  and  cresses,  under  the  shade 
of  a  fragment  of  old  Roman  wall. 

"  Mother,"  said  the  child,  picking  up  a  broken  piece 
of  tesselated  pavement,  "  what  are  these  strange  old 
stones  ?  " 

"  They  say  they  were  the  work  of  the  Romans,  who 
had  a  great  city  here  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years 
ago ! " 

"  What !  the  Pope  of  Rome  ?  " 

"  No  ;  another  kind  of  Romans, — great  soldiers,  who 
once  conquered  all  the  land  ;  and  heathens." 

"What!  where  these  docks  and  nettles  grow,  and 
where  the  cows  graze  in  the  meadows,  were  there  once 
streets  and  houses  V 

"Yes.  I  have  heard  your  grandfather,  who  was  a 
learned  man,  say  there  were  palaces  here,  with  beautiful 
floors  of  many-coloured  stones ;  and  temples  of  the  old 
heathen  gods." 

"  What !  the  false  gods  we  read  of  in  the  Bible  ?" 
asked  the  child  ;  "  the  gods  they  burned  little  children 
to  please  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure,  Margery  ;  I  think  they  were  the  gods 
St.  Paul  and  Barnabas  were  mistaken  for,  when  they 
burned  oxen  and  garlands,  and  would  have  sacrificed  to 
them." 

"And  here,  on  these  meadows,  there  were  really  streets 
and  houses,  and  men  and  women  living  in  them,  and  little 
children  playing  in  them  ?  Mother,  it  is  better  than  a 
fairy  tale.     Tell  me  more." 

"  The  hill  opposite  us,  where  the  town  stands  now. " 


62  THE  EARL  T  DA  TOT. 

continued  Widow  Joyce,  "  was  then,  they  say,  a  green 
wooded  hill,  covered  with  wild  flowers." 

"  That  must  have  been  beautiful !."  said  the  child. 

To  her  the  city  of  a  thousand  years  ago  seemed  like  an 
enchanted  place ;  and  the  flowery  fields  of  a  thousand 
years  ago  like  a  garden  of  dreams.  It  never  occurred 
to  her  that  old  Verulam  was  as  every-day  a  place  to  its 
inhabitants  as  St.  Albans  was  to  her  ;  or  that  the  flowers 
the  children  of  long  ago  gathered  on  the  wooded  heights, 
now  sobered  into  streets,  were  neither  more  nor  less  fair 
than  those  which  she  had  gathered  that  morning  from 
above  the  buried  temples  and  palaces  of  the  old  city. 

"  How  beautiful  it  must  have  been !"  she  said.  "  I 
should  like  to  have  lived  then,  mother, — should  not 
you?" 

"  I  hardly  know,"  said  the  mother  ;  "  those  also  were 
cruel  times.  On  the  crest  of  the  hill  where  the  cathedral 
stands,  those  old  Romans  once  put  a  good  man  to  death, 
striking  off  his  head  because  he  would  not  deny  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ.  His  name  was  Alban.  And  long  after- 
terwards,  when  the  country  became  Christian,  they  gath- 
ered the  martyr's  bones,  and  built  the  abbey  over  them. 
And  so  in  time  the  city  of  the  old  Romans  perished,  and 
the  new  city  grew  up  around  the  martyr's  grave." 

"  Then  I  would  not  indeed  have  lived  in  those  times, 
mother  !"  said  Margery.  "  Yet,"  she  added,  thoughtfully, 
"  I  thought  you  said  they  burned  a  good  man  the  other 
day  because  he  would  not  do  what  God  had  told  him  not. 
And  burning  must  be  worse  than  beheading.  There  must 
then  be  some  wicked  men  in  the  world  now,  mother." 

The  widow  sighed,  and,  gathering  up  her  herbs,  took 
the  child's  hand,  and  walked  back  towards  the  town. 

"  There  are  always  wicked  men,  child,"  she  said,  "  but 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  63 

God  is  mightier  than  the  devil.  See,  the  grass  grows 
over  the  ruined  palaces  of  the  persecutor,  and  the  grave 
of  the  martyr  is  the  crown  and  glory  of  the  land.  It 
says  this  shall  be  so  in  the  Bible ;  and  we  see  it  with 
our  eyes." 

As  she  spoke  they  came  near  the  narrow  bridge.  They 
found  it  occupied  with  a  cavalcade,  which  they  waited  to 
let  pass.  There  were  a  few  soldiers,  and  several  of  the 
county  yeomanry.  The  high  sheriff  himself  rode  at  the 
head  of  the  company,  and  the  mayor  of  St.  Albans  had 
just  come  down  the  hill  to  meet  him.  But  Margery  saw 
her  mother's  eyes  rivetted  on  a  pale,  quiet-looking  man, 
who  was  bound  and  closely  guarded  in  the  midst  of  the 
throng ;  and  when  the  horsemen  swept  up  the  hill  she 
asked  who  it  was. 

•f  I  think  it  must  be  George  Tankerfield  the  Gospeller," 
was  the  whispered  reply.  "  It  was  reported  they  would 
bring  him  here." 

"  What  for  ?"  asked  the  child  ;  "  what  has  he  done  ?" 

"  What  St.  Alban  did  long  ago,  my  child,"  said  the 
widow  in  a  low  voice. 

"  What  will  they  do  to  him,  mother?" 

"What  they  did  to  the  old  martyr  ;  or  worse!"  was 
the  solemn  answer.  "  They  are  leading  another  martyr, 
Margery,  up  that  hill  to  die !" 

"  Oh,  mother !"  said  the  child,  "  will  God  let  them  ?" 

"  He  may  let  the  martyr  suffer,"  said  Widow  Jeyce, 
mournfully.  "  But,"  she  added  in  a  firm  voice,  "  He  will 
not  let  the  enemy  prevail." 

As  they  went  up  the  street,  the  people  stood  on  their 
door-steps  looking  after  the  cavalcade  ;  and  many  a  mur- 
mured "  God  bless  him,"  and  also  some  muttered  curses 
on  the  heretic,  fell  on  Margery's  ear. 


64  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

The  high  sheriff,  with  the  prisoner  and  the  escort,  put 
up  at  Cross  Keys  Inn. 

Many  thronged  to  see  the  condemned  man,  both  friends 
and  foes  ;  and  among  them  Widow  Joyce  took  her  little 
Margery.  As  in  the  early  Christian  times,  men  and 
women  in  those  days  again  and  again  courageously  risked 
danger  and  even  death  only  to  say  a  word  of  reverent 
sympathy  to  their  suffering  brethren,  or  even  to  give  a 
friendly  grip  to  the  hand  so  soon  to  be  reduced  to  ashes 
for  the  Master's  sake. 

Many  a  contradictory  opinion  Margery  heard  as  she 
stood  with  her  mother  just  outside  the  door.  "  Some  were 
sorry  to  find  so  pious  a  man  brought  to  be  burned ;  others 
praised  God  for  his  constancy  and  perseverance  in  the 
truth.  Contrariwise,  some  said  it  was  pity  he  did  stand 
in  such  opinions  ;  and  others,  both  old  men  and  women, 
cried  against  him  ;  one  called  him  heretic,  and  said  that 
it  was  not  fit  that  he  lived.  But  Tankerfield  spake  unto 
them  so  effectually  out  of  the  word  of  God,  lamenting 
their  ignorance,  and  protesting  unto  them  his  unspotted 
conscience,  that  God  did  mollify  their  hardened  hearts, 
insomuch  that  some  of  them  who  had  doubted  him  de- 
parted out  of  the  chamber  weeping."  * 

Among  those  who  wept  was  little  Margery  Joyce ; 
and  she  wept  so  bitterly  that  at  last  her  mother  had 
almosi  to  carry  her  home. 

For  a  long  time  the  child  sat  sobbing  on  her  mother's 
knee,  until  at  last  the  sobs  came  at  longer  intervals,  the 
large  tears  stood  on  her  crimsoned  cheek,  and  she  lay 
quite  still  with  her  head  on  her  mother's  bosom,  the  little 
frame  only  now  and  then  heaving  with  the  passing  storm 
of  emotion. 

*  Fox's  Martyrs. 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  65 

"  Poor  little  one !"  said  the  mother  at  length  very  gen- 
tly, '  1  should  have  known  better  than  to  have  laid  such 
a  weight  on  thy  tender  heart." 

"Oh,  mother,"  said  the  child,  "  it  was  so  different  from 
what  I  thought !  I  thought  his  face  would  have  shone  as 
the  Bible  says  that  first  martyr's  did,  or  that  he  would 
have  looked  so  grave  and  solemn,  it  would  have  felt  like 
being  at  church  to  see  him.  But  lie  is  just  like  one  of  us  I 
His  voice  was  so  gentle,  and  he  looked  so  kind,  I  cannot 
bear  to  think  he  must  be  put  to  all  that  pain.  Oh,  mother, 
the  old  martyrs  could  not  have  been  like  that,  so  like 
father  used  to  look,  or  the  people  never  could  have  made 
them  die." 

The  widow  took  the  Bible  and  read  aloud,  as  well  as 
her  tears  would  let  her,  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  St. 
John.  "  There,  darling !"  she  said,  "  it  is  to  Him  the 
good  man  is  going  !  It  is  to  Jesus.  And  it  will  not  be 
long." 

So  she  soothed  the  child  until,  weary  with  excitement, 
she  fell  asleep,  and  the  widow  gently  laid  her  on  the  bed, 
and  taking  her  distaff,  seated  herself  quietly  at  her  spin- 
ning-wheel, whilst  she  listened  with  eager  interest  for 
every  sound  in  the  street  outside.  Before  long  the  latch 
was  lifted,  and  a  decent-looking  woman  came  in,  with  a 
child  in  her  arms. 

"  This  is  a  sad  business,  Neighbour.  Joyce,"  she  said. 

"  It  is  long  since  our  town  has  seen  such  a  day,"  was 
the  low  reply. 

"  But  most  of  all,"  rejoined  the  woman,  "  my  heart 
aches  for  his  poor  wife.  It  seems  that  she,  not  knowing 
what  she  did,  delivered  him  up  to  his  foes.  He  had  had 
a  heavy  sickness,  and  had  lain  long  in  the  house,  when 
on  a  certain  day  he  rose  and  walked  into  the  Temple 


66  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

fields  by  the  river  Thames,  to  take  the  air  and  see  the 
shooters.  In  the  mean  time,  Mr.  Beard,  yeoman  of  the 
guard,  came  to  his  house  and  inquired  for  him,  pretend- 
ing to  his  wife  (the  false  knave !)  that  he  came  only  to 
have  him  dress  a  banquet  at  the  Lord  Paget's.  His  wife, 
poor  soul,  because  of  the  yeoman's  apparel,  which  was 
very  rich,  took  him  to  be  some  great  friend,  and  with  all 
speed  prepared  herself  to  fetch  her  husband.  And  lest 
this  gentleman  should  be  tired  with  tarrying,  she  fetched 
a  cushion  to  sit  on,  and  laid  a  fair  napkin  before  him,  and 
set  bread  thereon,  and  came  to  tell  her  husband.  But 
when  he  heard  it,  he  said, '  A  banquet,  woman !  Indeed, 
it  is  such  a  banquet  as  will  not  be  very  pleasant  to  the 
flesh  !  But  God's  will  be  done.'  When  he  came  home, 
he  saw  too  plainly  who  it  was,  and  called  him  by  his 
name.  And  the  wife,  poor  body,  perceiving  wherefore 
this  gay  gentleman  had  come,  grew  well-nigh  frantic  (as 
well  she  might),  and  seized  a  spit,  and  would  have  run 
him  through,  had  not  the  constable  chanced  to  come  in 
and  rescue  him.  Yet  she  sent  a  brickbat  after  the  trai- 
tor, and  hit  him  on  the  back.  But  all  in  vain  ;  her  hus- 
band was  delivered  to  the  constable,  and  brought  to 
Newgate.*  Poor,  helpless  woman's  hands !  what  could 
they  do  against  the  queen's  officers  ?" 

"Let  us  pray  she  may  have  patience,"  said  Widow 
Joyce. 

"  My  husband  says  the  country  has  need  of  something 
beside  patience  now,"  replied  the  neighbour,  *  and  that 
men  will  not  much  longer  hold  their  peace  at  these  things. 
London  is  growing  fractious  already,  and  that  is  why  they 
have  sent  him  to  die  here.  I  trow  they  will  not  find  that 
we  at  St.  Albans  like  such  doings  much  better  than  the 

*Fox. 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  YERULAM.  67 

Londoners.  Not  that  we  are  Gospellers,"  she  continued 
hastily ;  "  but  who  with  a  man  or  a  woman's  heart  can 
stand  such  treacheries  and  cruelties  as  these?" 

"  It  is  said  that  George  Tankerfield  himself  was  no 
Gospeller  until  these  persecutions  drove  him  to  it,"  re- 
plied Widow  Joyce.  "  Seeing  the  great  cruelty  which 
the  Papists  used,  he  was  brought  into  a  doubt  of  their 
doctrines,  and  began  in  his  heart  to  abhor  them.  Con- 
cerning the  mass,  especially,  he  had  much  doubt ;  and  at 
length  he  fell  to  prayer,  desiring  God  in  mercy  to  open 
to  him  the  truth,  that  he  might  be  thoroughly  persuaded 
therein,  whether  it  were  of  God  or  not ;  if  not,  that  he 
might  utterly  hate  it  in  his  heart.  The  Lord,  as  I  be- 
lieve, mercifully  heard  his  prayer.  He  was  moved  to 
read  the  New  Testament,  whereby  the  light  was  poured 
into  his  mind ;  he  grew  to  detest  the  ways  of  the  Papists, 
and  came  no  more  to  their  doings.  Moreover,  the  truth 
kindled  such  a  flame  in  him,  as  would  not  be  kept  in  ; 
but  he  spoke  to  his  friends,  entreating  them  likewise  to 
repent  and  turn  to  the  truth  with  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  neighbour,  uneasily,  "  that  is  the  worst 
of  those  new  doctrines — people  cannot  be  quiet  about 
them.  But  I  would  liefer  be  Tankerfield  or  his  poor  wife 
than  the  yeoman  who  took  him,  or  even,  for  that  matter, 
Master  Edward  Brocket  the  High  Sheriff,  who  brings 
him  here  to  die." 

So  saying,  she  arose,  and  left  the  widow  once  more 
alone  with  the  sleeping  child. 

Meanwhile  the  day  was  slowly  passing  away,  and  the 
martyr,  knowing  that  the  hour  was  drawing  nigh  that  he 
should  suffer,  desired  the  wine-drawer  that  he  might  have 
a  pint  of  malmsey  and  a  loaf,  that  he  might  eat  and  drink 
in  remembrance  of  Christ's  death  and  passion,  because  he 


68  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

could  not  have  it  administered  to  him  by  others  in  such 
manner  as  Christ  commanded.  And  then  he  kneeled 
down,  making  his  confession  unto  the  Lord,  with  all  who 
were  in  the  chamber  with  him.  And  after  he  had  prayed 
earnestly,  and  had  read  the  institution  of  the  Holy  Sup- 
per by  the  Lord  Jesus,  out  of  the  Evangelists  and  out  of 
St.  Paul,  he  said, — 

"  0  Lord,  thou  knowest  it,  I  do  not  this  to  derogate 
authority  from  any  man,  or  in  contempt  of  those  who  are 
thy  ministers,  but  only  "because  I  cannot  have  it  adminis- 
tered according  to  thy  word." 

When  he  had  spoken  these  and  such  like  words,  he 
•received  it  with  giving  of  thanks.  Then  he  was  entreated 
to  strengthen  himself  by  taking  some  meat ;  but  he  said 
he  would  not  eat  that  which  should  do  others  good  that 
had  more  need,  and  that  had  longer  to  live  than  he  had. 

He  prayed  his  host  to  let  him  have  a  good  fire  in  the 
chamber,  which  was  granted  him.  And  then  sitting  on 
a  form  before  it,  he  put  off  his  shoes  and  hose,  and 
stretched  out  his  leg  to  the  flame ;  and  when  it  had 
touched  his  foot  he  quickly  withdrew  his  leg,  showing 
the  flesh  did  persuade  him  one  way,  the  spirit  another. 
The  flesh  said,  "  0  thou  fool !  wilt  thou  burn,  and  need- 
est  not?  The  spirit  said,  "Be  not  afraid,  for  this  is 
nothing  in  respect  of  fire  eternal."  The  flesh  said,  "  Do 
not  leave  the  company  of  thy  friends  and  acquaintance, 
which  love  thee,  and  will  let  thee  lack  nothing."  The 
spirit  said,  "  The  company  of  Jesus  Christ  and  his  glori- 
ous presence  doth  exceed  all  earthly  friends."  The  flesh 
said,  "  Do  not  shorten  thy  time,  for  thou  mayest  live,  if 
thou  wilt,  mucli  longer."  The  spirit  said,  "  This  life  is 
nothing  unto  the  life  in  heaven,  which  lasteth  for  ever." 

And  all  this  time  the  sheriffs  were  at  a  gentleman's 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  69 

house  at  dinner,  not  far  from  the  town,  whither  also  re- 
sorted many  knights  and  gentlemen  out  of  the  country, 
because  that  gentleman's  son  was  married  that  day  ;  and 
until  they  returned  from  dinner,  the  prisoner  was  left  to 
the  care  of  his  host,  by  whom  he  was  kindly  treated. 
And,  considering  that  his  time  was  short,  his  saying 
was, — 

"  Although  the  day  be  ever  so  long, 
Yet,  at  the  last,  it  ringeth  to  even  song."  * 

So  the  martyr  waited,  and  the  sheriffs  dined,  and 
"Widow  Joyce  sat  spinning  beside  her  sleeping  child,  the 
low  whirr  of  the  wheel  sounding  through  the  silent 
chamber  as  she  prayed  and  repeated  sacred  words  of 
divine  promise,  and  listened  for  the  terrible  sounds  she 
expected  in  the  street  without. 

At  length  the  quiet  was  broken.  There  was  a  hum 
of  many  voices,  and  a  hasty  moving  to  and  fro  of  feet, 
and  then  the  heavy  tramp  of  armed  men  stepping 
evenly. 

Widow  Joyce  laid  aside  her  spinning-wheel,  and  went 
to  the  window  and  looked  out.  The  street  before  her 
window  was  quite  deserted  and  silent,  as  if  it  had  been 
a  city  of  tombs.  Not  a  face  at  window  or  door.  All 
who  cared  or  dared  to  see  that  day's  doings  were  gathered 
at  the  place  called  Romeland,  a  green  spot  near  the  west 
end  of  the  abbey  church,  where  the  stake  was  set.  Mothers 
had  gathered  their  little  ones  around  them  within  their 
houses,  lest  they  should  see  or  hear  some  dreadful  thing. 
Many  would  gladly  have  closed  the  shutters  as  for  a 
funeral.  For  on  all  the  town  an  awe  rested,  like  the 
shadow  of  death  in  every  household. 

*  Fox. 


7o  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

Widow  Joyce  knelt  and  looked  out,  and  prayed,  until 
a  strange  glare  lighted  up  the  windows  of  the  house  at 
the  opposite  corner,  which  faced  the  abbey  green,  a 
strange  dull  glow  reddening  the  quiet  summer  daylight. 

Then  she  hid  her  face  and  looked  no  more  into  the 
street,  but  looked  in  her  heart  up  to  God.  For  she 
knew  too  surely  that  another  martyr  was  in  his  death- 
agony  at  that  moment  on  the  crest  of  St.  Alban's  hill. 

She  was  aroused  by  the  sound  of  footsteps  in  the 
street.  The  light  of  the  long  summer  day  still  rested  on 
the  town,  no  longer  broken  by  the  terrible  glare  from 
the  opposite  windows.  As  the  people  were  dispersing 
quietly  to  their  homes,  speaking  little  as  they  went,  and 
that  little  in  low  tones  which  did  not  reach  the  ears  of 
any  but  those  to  whom  they  were  addressed. 

Thus  the  long  day  passed  away,  and  the  abbey  bells 
rang  the  even  song,  and  many  went  from  the  martyr's 
stake  to  say  their  vespers  as  usual  in  the  abbey  church. 

Margery  awoke,  and  was  sitting  up  gazing  in  a 
bewildered  way  around  her,  when  Widow  Joyce  arose 
from  her  knees  by  the  window. 

"  Was  it  a  dream,  mother?"  said  Margery.  "  I  thought 
I  saw  the  kind  face  of  that  good  man  shining,  like  Ste- 
phen's, above  the  flames.  And  when  I  awoke,  you  were 
quietly  kneeling  by  the  window  ;  and  I  heard  the  church 
bell,  and  I  thought  it  must  be  time  to  say  my  morning 
prayers." 

"  It  has  all  passed  like  a  dream,  my  child,"  said  the 
widow,  "  for  that  good  man  ;  and  he  is  singing  his  even 
song,  or  rather  his  first  morning  hymn,  in  heaven,  and  to 
him  the  day  will  never  darken  more.  See,  Margery," 
she  added,  "you  have  scarcely  been  asleep  two  hours, 
and  in  that  time  the  martyr  has  passed  through  this  fiery 


THE  TWO  MARTYRS  OF  VERULAM.  71 

trial  from  the  beginning  to  the  end,  and  has  entered  on 
an  eternity  of  joy." 

All  that  evening  the  people  crept  quietly  about  the 
streets,  and  on  the  morrow  many  awoke  with  a  weight 
of  awe  on  them,  as  if  the  old  familiar  streets  had  beer, 
hallowed  into  the  solemnity  of  a  cathedral ;  as  if  tho 
common  incidents  of  life  and  time  had  been  fused  into 
transparency,  and  eternity  was  shining  through.  . 

Many  stole  quietly  that  day  to  the  abbey  green,  the 
spot  called  Romeland,  and  among  them,  at  the.  dusk, 
Widow  Joyce  and  Margery ;  and  as  they  looked  at  the 
little  heap  of  ashes  and  the  blackened  circle  on  the 
grass,  an  old  man  drew  near  and  told  them  how  yester- 
day, when  the  mayor  and  others  were  reviling  Tanker 
field  for  his  courageous  confession,  "  a  good  knight  went 
up  to  him,  bound  as  he  was  to  the  stake,  and  spake 
softly,  and  said  '  Good  brother,  be  strong  in  Christ? 
And  Tankerfield  replied,  '  Good  sir,  I  thank  you  ;  I  am 
so,  I  thank  God.9  And  then  the  fire  was  set  unto  him, 
and  he  desired  the  sheriffs  and  all  the  people  to  pray  for 
him,  and  most  of  them  did,  and  so  embracing  the  fire, 
he  called  on  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  was  quickly 
out  of  pain." 

As  the  widow  and  the  child  went  home  again,  Margery 
said  in  a  low  voice, — 

"  Then,  even  in  those  two  hours,  mother,  the  good 
man  was  comforted !" 

Days  passed  on,  and  tilings  resumed  their  every-day 
aspect  in  St.  Albans.  Little  children  went  eagerly 
about  their  play,  and  men  and  women  about  their  pur- 
suits. The  sounds  of  mirth,  and  debate,  and  traffic,  and 
of  all  life's  cares,  and  joys,  and  sorrows,  were  heard 
again  in  the  streets.     The  grass  grew  as  green  over  the 


72  THE  EARL T  DA  WN. 

death-place  of  the  martyr  of  that  year  as  over  that  of 
the  martyr  of  twelve  hundred  years  ago. 

Years  passed  on.  The  unhappy  queen  died,  the  per- 
secution ceased  ;  and  in  the  church  built  over  the  relics 
of  the  first  martyr  of  Verulam,  and  in  the  houses  of  the 
town,  was  read  and  reverenced  the  precious  English 
Bible,  for  whose  truths  the  last  martyr  of  St.  Albans 
suffered. 

And  in  England,  from  that  time  to  this,  the  Word  of 
God  has  held  the  place  won  for  it  throughout  the  land 
by  the  deaths  of  many  martyrs,  rooted  deep  in  the 
hearts  of  the  middle  and  labouring  classes,  which  are 
the  heart  of  a  nation,  and  from  which  most  of  the  Eng- 
lish martyrs  sprang. 


III. 

Annals 
of  an  anglo-saxon  family 

THROUGH   THREE   GENERATIONS. 


Story  of  the  Abbess  Frideswide,  recorded  by  Deorwyn,  the 
Nun,  Daughter  of  Alfhelm  and  Astritha. 


III. 


AN   ANGLO-SAXON   FAMILY  THROUGH   THREE 
GENERATIONS. 

STORY    OF    THE    ABBESS    FRIDESWIDE,    RECORDED    BY    DEORWYN, 

THE    NUN. 


[T  must  have  been  in  the  very  night  when  the 
great  Abbess  Hilda  died  that  Frideswide,  our 
mother,  Prioress  of  our  Abbey  of  St.  John's, 
on  the  Derwent  Lake,  related  to  me  the  things 
which  I  am  about  to  write. 

For  I  remember  the  winds  howled  fiercely  down  the 
valleys,  and  the  waves  of  the  lake  dashed  against  the 
banks  like  the  waves  of  the  great  sea,  and  tearing  the 
convent  fishing-boat  from  its  moorings,  broke  it  in 
pieces.  And  with  the  sounds  of  winds  and  waters  came 
other  sounds, — voices,  wild  wails,  and  low  faint  moans, 
other  than  winds  can  make.  And  three  days  afterwards 
a  monk  came  from  the  Abbey  of  Streaneschalch  (Whitby), 
and  told  us  how  the  Lady  Hilda,  mother  of  so  many 
congregations,  was  dead ;  and  then  we  knew  why  such 
strange  terrors  had  seized  us  on  that  stormy  night ;  for, 


76  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

doubtless,  there  had  been  great  tumult  among  the  powers 
of  the  air  when  that  great  spirit  went  its  way  through 
storm  and  cloud  to  God. 

The  night  was  very  wild.  It  was  a  comfort  when  we 
looked  across  the  foaming  waters  to  see  the  little  lamp 
still  gleaming  from  the  island  where  Herbert  dwelt,  the 
holy  anchoret.  Because  we  knew  his  heart  also  was  lit, 
and  girded,  and  that  throughout  the  storm  he  was  defend- 
ing us  all  with  his  holy  vigils  of  prayer.  But  the  hearts 
of  many  of  the  younger  sisters  quailed.  More  than 
once  the  dormitory,  which  was  only  built  of  oak  and 
thatched  with  reeds,  quivered  as  if  it  would  fall ;  and 
the  rain  came  through  the  roof.  Therefore  we  were  all 
rejoiced  to  obey  the  order  to  rise  and  chant  the  mid- 
night psalms  in  the  church  ;  and  afterwards  Frideswide, 
the  abbess,  permitted  me,  when  the  rest  had  retired,  to 
sit  with  her  by  the  fire  in  the  great  hall,  while  she  spoke 
to  me  of  the  past,  of  the  men  and  women  she  had  seen, 
and  of  the  dangers  and  deliverances  of  her  life.  Her 
voice  could  always  calm  us,  as  the  voice  of  a  mother 
quiets  the  little  ones.  She  always  spoke  and  looked  the 
truth.  Fear  and  falsehood  could  not  find  a  nook  in  which 
to  hide  on  her  broad  white  brow,  or  in  the  blue  depths 
of  her  eyes.  She  seldom  said  endearing  or  commenda- 
tory words ;  but  a  softening  of  tone  in  her  voice,  or  a 
sign  that  she  had  observed,  was  more  to  us  than  count- 
less phrases  of  tenderness  or  praise  from  another.  She 
did  not  always  insist  on  the  minute  monastic  rules,  as 
they  have  been  enforced  amongst  us  since.  But  while 
she  lived,  there  was  the  firmest  order  in  the  convent, 
both  among  the  brothers  and  the  sisters  ;  for  ours  was  a 
double  house.  Not  the  most  timid  among  the  sisters 
would  have  dared  to  be  a  coward  in  her  presence  ;  nor 


AN  ANGLO-SAXON  FAMILY. 


77 


would  the  boldest  among  the  brethren  have  dared  to 
question  her  commands.  And  yet  she  seemed  to  me  mor1, 
like  one  of  the  great  women  of  our  Saxon  people  than 
like  a  holy  woman  in  the  legends  of  the  saints, — more 
like  a  wise  house-mother  than  a  saint.  She  prayed 
much,  indeed,  and  read  the  Gospels ;  but  her  prayers 
seemed  chiefly  the  girdle  which  kept  the  duties  of  her 
active  life  together  ;  and  she  had  no  miraculous  visions, 
and  heard  no  wonderful  voices ;  nor  when  she  died  were 
there  any  wonders  wrought  at  her  tomb. 

But  then  she  had  been  married.  And  I  am  not  sure 
that  miracles  are  ever  wrought  save  at  the  tombs  of 
consecrated  maidens  ;  at  least  it  is  very  rare. 

But  of  this  I  am  sure  :  since  then  I  have  never  seen 
one  who  loved  God  more  ;  nor  have  we  ever  met  with 
one  whg  loved  and  served  us  as  well. 

Tears  bedew  her  tomb,  if  it  is  hallowed  by  no  sacred 
supernatural  odours  of  sanctity. 

She  was  my  father's  mother.  And  she  spoke  to 
me  thus  on  the  night  that  the  great  Abbess  Hilda 
died : 

"The  good  Bishop  Aidan  is  dead,  and  Oswald  the 
holy  king,  and  many  of  the  best  men  and  women  I  have 
known  ;  and  more  are  aged,  and  must  soon  be  gathered 
home.  The  memory  of  the  aged  is  as  a  casket  of  treas- 
ures. Death  locks  it  close  forever,  and  throws  the 
golden  key  into  the  dark  waters  undv  r  the  foundations 
of  the  earth,  whence,  till  the  last  fires  are  kindled  which 
shall  lay  that  boundless  ocean  bare,  no  man  can  recover 
it.  Wherefore,  child,  it  may  be  well  that  thou  shouldst 
learn  what  happened  to  thy  people  of  old. 

"  Our  kindred  came  from  beyond  the  sea.  From  the 
days  when  Woden  led  the  Asae  forth  to  conquest  from 


78  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

the  golden  halls  of  Asgard  in  the  far  East,  a  longing 
has  ruled  in  the  hearts  of  our  race  stronger  than  the 
longing  of  the  exile  for  home,  compelling  us  ever  west- 
ward, westward,  towards  the  resting-place  of  the  sun. 
And  here,  in  this  island,  it  may  be,  we  have  reached  our 
goal.  Have  I  not  stood  on  the  rocky  western  shores  and 
seen  him  sink  to  rest,  where  nothing  lay  between  us  and 
him  but  countless,  boundless  waves  ?  Further  west  our 
race  cannot  wander.  Therefore,  in  this  island,  I  deem 
we  have  found  our  home. 

"  Our  fathers  did  not  find  the  country  a  desert.  They 
had  to  dispossess  the  people  of  the  land  ;  to  drive  them 
from  their  fields  and  cities  into  the  barren  fastnesses, 
where  eyen  now  they  linger  on  the  shores  of  Wales  and 
Cornwall.  For  strength  is  the  gift  of  Heaven  ;  and  it 
is  the  destiny  of  the  strongest  to  rule." 

"  But  was  that  right,  mother  V  I  said. 

"  It  was  fate,"  she  said ;  "  and  our  fathers  were 
heathens." 

"But  the  people  who  were  robbed  of  their  homes 
must  have  suffered  grievously,"  I  said. 

"They  did,  doubtless,"  she  replied.  "I  have  heard 
that  the  land  was  full  of  the  wails  of  the  widow  and  the 
fatherless." 

"  But  what  if  any  stronger  still  should  come,  mother, 
and  do  to  us  even  as  our  fathers  did  to  them  ?" 

"Then  our  children  would  suffer,"  she  said,  "and  the 
wail  would  go  up,  not  in  the  Welsh,  but  in  our  own 
Saxon  tongue, — the  wail  of  the  widow  and  the  fatherless 
and  the  wronged.  And  so  it  will  be  until  the  strongest 
comes  ;  and  then  the  strong  will  rule,  and  the  weak  will 
serve,  and  the  land  will  have  rest." 

"But"  I  said,  "is  the  wail  of  the  widow  and  the 


AN  ANGL  0-8 AXON  FAMIL  Y.  79 

oppressed  lost  in  the  wide  air  ?  Does  it  not  go  up  to 
God?" 

"It  does,  child,"  she  said.  "The  strongest  possess 
the  land  ;  but  the  oppressed  are  purified  in  the  fire,  and 
made  holy,  and  are  blessed  in  heaven." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  it  seems  that  God  reigns  in  heaven, 
and  strength  on  earth." 

"  God  reigns  in  His  kingdom,  in  heaven,  and  trains 
for  His  kingdom  on  earth,"  she  said. 

"  Then  the  earth  is  but  as  the  smith's  forge,"  I  said, 
"  where  the  weapons  are  made.  No  wonder  it  is  so  full 
of  confusion." 

"  Nay,"  she  said  ;  "  it  is  also  the  battle-field  where  the 
weapons  are  practised." 

"  Then  for  earth  itself,"  I  said,  "  there  is  no  hope. 
God  is  training  men  and  women  for  heaven  ;  but  the 
devil  is  reigning  among  the  nations,  and  making  them 
rage  like  wild  beasts." 

"  Not  altogether  so,  I  think,"  said  the  abbess  ;  "  I  have 
a  glimmering  of  hope  that  even  for  the  nations  on  earth 
God  has  his  training  ;  only  the  battle  is  too  close  around 
us  for  us  to  understand  how  the  day  is  going,-— we  are 
not  high  enough  to  see.  If  that  wild  impulse  had  not 
brought  our  fathers  hither,  they  might  have  lived  like 
heathens  still ;  and,  I  may  err,  but  I  believe  God  would 
never  suffer  a  nobler  race  to  be  subdued,  or  utterly  rooted 
from  the  earth,  by  one  less  noble.  Not  only  for  their 
strength,  but  for  something  in  them  that  was  nobler  than 
strength,  I  think  our  fathers  possess  the  land.  For,  child, 
although  wrong  and  falsehood  may  triumph  for  a  time,  as 
the  sudden  onslaught  of  a  savage  horde  may  overpower 
the  sons  of  the  heroes,  true  strength  is  based  on  right 
and  truth.     Etzel,  the  foul  Hun,  might  overrun  the  na- 


go  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

tions  ;  but  Dietrich,  the  Goth,  reigned  after  him,  and  the 
Huns  were  driven  back  from  the  west.  And  our  fathers, 
I  trow,  were  of  nobler  life  than  those  they  displaced,  who 
had  taken  up  the  lesson  from  great  Rome,  when  she  her- 
self was  sinking  into  her  premature  degraded  dotage. 
Nay,  further,  I  deem  that  not  only  cannot  the  nobler  be 
rooted  up  by  the  less  noble,  but  that  what  is  noble  in  the 
feeblest  cannot  perish.  If  the  world  is  to  be  better  for 
the  triumph  of  our  Saxon  race,  our  Saxon  race  itself,  I 
trust,  will  become  nobler  by  the  conflict,  and  by  the  mix- 
ture with  the  conquered.  Do  we  not  owe  even  our 
Christianity  to  the  vanquished  Roman  and  the  enslaved 
Briton? 

"  Much  evil  is  done  under  the  sun,  and  the  powers  of 
darkness  are  strong ;  but  since  God,  the  good,  is  al- 
mighty, right  must  be  mightier  than  wrong,  not  only  in 
heaven,  I  deem,  but  on  earth,  and  even  in  hell.  For  hell 
itself  is  no  kingdom  of  the  lawless,  but  the  eternal  prison- 
house  of  all  who  break  the  eternal  laws.  In  the  light 
God  rules  by  love  ;  in  the  darkness  by  chains ;  in  this 
twilight  of  the  earth  by  both. 

"  Had  not  even  our  heathen  forefathers  a  glimmering 
of  this  ?    Does  not  the  Vola  sing  of  the  days  to  come  : 

1  There  are  fields  without  sowing ; 
All  things  against  us  turn  for  us ; 
Baldur,  the  sun-god,  will  come  again ; 
The  Asae  will  dwell  without  evils  : 
Do  you  yet  understand  ? 

A  hall  stands  brighter  than  the  sun, 
Covered  with  gold  in  Gimle ; 
There  the  good  will  dwell, 
And  enjoy  all  good  through  the 


AN  ANGLO-SAXON  FAMILY.  8 1 

She  sees  arise, 
A  second  time, 
The  earth  from  ocean, 
In  verdant  shene.' " 


"  Mother,"  1  ventured  to  say,  "  who  taught  the  heathen 
their  wisdom  ?  and  why,  since  they  remembered  so  much, 
did  they  forget  so  much  more  ?" 

"  Every  day  begins  in  light,  child,"  she  said  ;  "  and  be- 
yond the  light  the  strongest  sight  is  blind.  Every  child 
can  ask  what  no  sage  can  answer.  Hereafter,  the  sacred 
books  say,  there  will  be  no  night.  The  young  say, '  We 
are  strong,  and  the  earth  is  vast ;  we  will  scale  the 
mountains,  and  then  we  shall  see  into  the  stars.7  The 
aged  say, '  We  have  climbed  the  mountains,  and  the  stars 
seem  no  nearer  ;  but  the  earth  is  small,  and  we  are  fee- 
ble. We  will  wait/  Therefore  child,  we  will  turn  away 
our  eyes  from  the  great  world,  and  you  shall  hear  the 
way  God  has  led  me  through  my  little  life.  For  a  child 
can  make  a  drawing  of  the  round  earth  and  the  ocean 
round  it,  and  the  great  Midgard  serpent  encircling  both  ; 
but  ot  ten  men  who  have  lived  among  the  mountains,  only 
one  can  guide  you  safely  through  them  ;  and  I  deem  we 
learn  more  of  the  ways  of  God  by  observing  what  he  has 
done,  than  by  reflecting  what  he  might  have  done. 

"  We  were  born  beyond  the  seas,  I,  and  your  father, 
and  my  brother  Leofric.  In  our  home  amidst  the  low- 
lands of  the  German  coast,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Elbe, 
we  heard  marvellous  reports  of  the  conquests  our  kindred 
had  achieved  in  the  fair  island  to  the  west.  From  one 
and  another  of  the  younger  sons  of  our  great  families, 
starting  in  the  ship  which  was  all  their  heritage,  with  a 
band  of  adventurers,  had  come  back  in  a  few  years  ru- 
4* 


g2  THE  EARLY  DAWK 

mours  of  victory  and  spoils,  and  of  conquered  cities  to 
which  our  towns  were  mere  mud  villages.  One  and  an- 
other of  our  race,  we  heard,  were  seated  on  the  thrones  of 
the  vanquished,  crowned  kings,  with  captive  princes  kneel- 
ing as  slaves  at  their  tables,  and  corn-fields  tilled,  and 
flocks  and  herds  tended  by  the  vanquished  slaves  who 
had  once  been  their  owners. 

"  It  seemed  as  if  the  days  of  the  Asae — the  heroes  and 
the  founders  of  our  race — had  come  back  again.  The 
tales  of  conquest  from  the  island  in  the  West  rivalled, 
in  our  childish  fancy,  the  legends  of  the  golden  halls  of 
Asgard  in  the  far  East.  Our  world  had  two  Edens. 
Before  as  well  as  behind  us,  towards  the  sunset  whither 
we  must  go,  as  well  as  towards  the  sunrise  whence  we 
came,  rose  the  royal  halls  of  feasting,  and  smiled  the 
fields  green  and  golden,  watered  by  tne  living  streams. 

"  At  length  our  time  came.  The  longing  which  comes 
on  the  noblest  of  our  race,  the  passion  for  wandering, 
strong  as  the  love  of  home,  came  also  on  Wulfric,  our 
father.  One  of  our  kindred,  an  ealdorman  in  Wessex, 
also  sent  us  a  call  to  join  him  against  the  Britons..  Our 
mother  knew  what  she  might  have  to  encounter  when  she 
married  a  brave  man.  Without  a  struggle  she  left  her 
kindred  and  her  birthplace,  and,  with  no  attendant  but 
an  aged  nurse,  embarked  with  us  for  the  west  of  this 
island.  To  Leofric,  my  brother,  and  to  me,  the  day  of 
our  embarkation  was  a  day  of  the  proudest  and  wildest 
delight.  Our  father  we  trusted  in  as  the  bravest  and 
wisest  man  of  our  tribe.  Proud  and  severe  to  others, 
the  awe  of  his  slaves,  he  was  honoured  and  loved  by  his 
soldiers  ;  and  to  my  mother,  and  to  us  all,  his  pride  was 
the  pride  of  affection,  and  all  his  austerity  but  a  strong 
shield  thrown  around:  us.     The  sea  was  as  familiar  to  us 


AN  ANGLO-SAXON  FAMIL  Y.  83 

as  the  land  ;  from  infancy  we  had  steered  our  little  boats 
among  the  creeks,  and  we  had  deemed  it  our  greatest 
joy  to  accompany  our  father  in  his  shorter  voyages. 
And  now  we  believed  we  were  to  sail  straight  into  a 
world  beautiful  as  the  first  earth  which  rose  green  from 
the  ocean,  and  to  reign  in  cities  glorious  as  Asgard. 

"  On  our  way  we  were  driven  hither  and  thither  by 
storms  ;  but  to  us  the  storm  seemed  but  the  wilder  mood 
of  our  old  play-fellow.  I  remember  how  my  heart  throb- 
bed, and  my  whole  soul  seemed  to  rise  and  grow  as  our 
ship  plunged  through  the  great  waves  ;  and  rejoicing  in 
the  fierce  might  of  the  sea,  I  laughed  to  see  how  our  little 
bark  was  mightier  than  they.  For  my  father's  hand  was 
on  the  helm,  and  his  eyes  were  on  the  waves,  and  as  he 
steered  us  among  them,  although  again  and  again  the 
ship  staggered  with  the  blow,  in  another  moment  the 
broken  billow  was  foaming  powerless  behind  us.  The 
hand  and  eye  of  my  father  I  thought  had  mastered  the 
waves  ;  and  thenceforth  let  them  curvet,  and  shake  their 
white  manes  as  they  would,  they  were  but  our  war-horses 
to  bear  us  on  in  a  chariot  of  victory  whither  we  chose 
to  go. 

"  At  last  we  landed  in  a  creek  on  the  western  coast. 
I  remember  at  first  a  vague  feeling  of  disappointment  at 
finding  this  new  earth,  with  the  short  grass  on  its  cliffs, 
not  more  different  from  our  own.  The  grass  perhaps 
was  greener,  and  instead  of  our  low  sandy  shores,  steep 
cliffs  rose  breasting  the  waves.  But  we  were  treading 
for  the  first  time  the  shores  of  our  dreams,  the  land  of 
the  new  Asgard,  or  golden  city  of  our  race  ;  and  it  seemed 
to  us  the  rocks  ought  to  have  been  of  something  else  than 
stones,  and  the  green  something  more  than  that  of  com- 
mon grass.     However,  we  soon  began  to  take  delight  in 


84  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

our  new  country,  and  we  had  little  time  for  dreaming, 
for  a  stronghold  had  to  be  made  at  once,  of  turf  and 
stones,  as  a  refuge  for  the  women  and  children  of  our 
company,  and  as  a  treasury  for  the  stores  of  which  we 
were  to  despoil  the  natives. 

"  Our  preparations  were  soon  finished.  Some  of  our 
men  had  returned  from  an  exploring  expedition,  and  had 
met  messengers  from  the  Saxon  kinsman  who  had  invited 
us  thither.  The  Celts  also  were  around  awaiting  us. 
The  next  day  our  forces  were  to  unite  with  our  kinsman's, 
and  a  battle  was  to  be  fought.  Early  in  the  morning  we 
rose,  the  sacrifices  were  offered  to  Woden,  and  the  wise 
men  who  came  with  us  declared  the  flowing  of  the  blood 
of  the  victims  to  augur  well.  My  mother  herself  girded 
on  the  sax,  or  short  sword,  to  the  tunic  she  had  woven 
for  my  father.  I  see  it  now.  It  was  of  purple  linen, 
embroidered  with  golden  eagles.  My  father  embraced 
us,  and  promised  to  bring  us  home  gifts  from  the  fight. 
We  had  no  doubt  of  the  result.  All  day  my  brother  and 
I  played  on  the  sands  below  the  cliff  on  which  we  were 
encamped.  Leofric  was  eight,  and  I  was  twelve ;  and 
we  talked  of  the  palace  to  which  our  father  would  bring 
us,  and  of  the  way  we  would  behave  to  the  captive  princes 
and  princesses,  our  slaves.  Leofric  thought  they  would 
make  delightful  playfellows,  and  we  would  teach  them 
Saxon.  I  intended  not  to  speak  much  to  my  maidens, 
I  would  be  kind  to  them ;  but  they  should  wait  on  my 
looks,  so  that  I  only  had  to  wave  my  hand,  and  they 
would  obey  my  will.  But  most  of  all  we  spoke  of  our 
father  on  the  throne,  and  our  mother  with  the  silken 
robes  and  the  diadem  of  gold.  For  we  both  thought  our 
mother  the  fairest  woman  in  the  world  ;  and  I  loved  my 
father  as  perhaps  one  should  only  love  God. 


AN  ANQL  0- SAX  ON  FAMIL  Y.  85 

"  The  night  came  ;  but  not  my  father.  For  some  days 
we  watched  eagerly  for  every  footstep  with  the  longing 
eagerness  of  hope  deferred. 

"  And  then  one  of  our  men,  wounded,  and  faint  from 
loss  of  blood,  brought  back  a  fragment  of  the  purple  tunic 
to  us,  and  my  father's  sword. 

"  The  women  of  our  company  surrounded  him  with  bit- 
ter  wailings,  and  some  with  bitter  reproaches. 

" '  The  brave  have  perished/  they  said.  '  All  the  brave 
have  perished,  and  thou  only  hast  fled/ 

"  But  then  our  mother's  spirit  rose,  as  befits  the  spirit 
of  women  of  royal  race.  She  did  not  wail  nor  upbraid. 
She  said  simply, — 

" '  How  did  your  lord  die  ?  * 

" '  As  only  one  of  his  race  should  die — in  the  thick  of 
the  battle.' 

" '  Doubtless,'  she  said,  f  it  could  not  be  otherwise. 
But  not  one  word  ?  did  he  not  leave  one  word  ? '  * 

" '  Before  the  fight/  was  the  reply,  '  he  spoke  to  me, 
and  said,  "  Those  against  us  are  many  ;  and  a  brave  man 
should  not  despise  his  foes.  If  I  fall,  my  body  will  be 
buried  among  the  heaps  of  the  slain,  my  spirit  will  jour- 
ney to  Waihalla.  .  But  do  thou  take  my  sword  and  my 
tunic,  and  bear  them  to  the  camp  to  thy  lady,  and  let  the 
women  and  children  embark  again  for  our  native  shores." ' 

"  The  words  came  faintly  in  broken  sentences  from  the 
wounded  man's  pale  lips  ;  but  my  mother's  face  was 
whiter  than  his,  and  her  lips  Were  white  as  death  ;  yet 
she  pressed  them  silently  together,  and  uttered  not  a 
moan.  All  the  life  seemed  to  have  passed  from  her 
body  to  her  isoul,  and  her  soul  shone  through  her  tearless 
eyes. 

"  -  My  lord's  commands  shall  be  obeyed/  she  murmured. 


8  6  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

"  In  a  few  hours,  the  little  camp  my  father  had  so  care- 
fully chosen  for  us  was  deserted,  and  we  were  all  on 
board  two  cf  the  ships  manned  by  the  few  men  who  had 
been  left  to  guard  us. 

"  As  we  turned  from  the  shores  we  had  landed  on  with 
such  exultation  and  hope,  a  wild  despairing  wail  broke 
from  the  women.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  To  my  dying 
day  that  helpless,  hopeless,  bitter  cry  will  ring  in  my 
ears  ;  the  funeral  wail  for  the  dead  we  might  never  see 
again,  nor  even  bury  ;  the  cry  of  anguish,  which  was  not 
a  prayer,  but  only  a  cry,  echoed  back  by  the  rocks  of  this 
land  of  our  dead,  echoed  back  by  the  golden  walls  of 
Walhalla,  and  by  the  iron  gates  of  Hela,  the  death-god- 
dess,— but  reaching  no  heart  of  pity,  responded  to  by  no 
voice ! 

"  We  children  were  at  first  appalled  into  quietness. 
Then,  as  our  first  terror  passed,  the  sobs  of  the  little 
fatherless  ones  came  mingling  with  the  deeper  agony  of 
those  who  knew  what  they  had  lost. 

"  My  mother  only  sat  motionless  and  mute.  At  first 
when  she  had  given  our  father's  sword  to  my  brother,  his 
eyes  had  kindled,  and  he  seemed  to  think  it  was  a  great 
gift  and  trust  from  his  father.  It  was  not  until  we  were 
in  the  ships  again,  and  turning  from  the  shores,  that  he 
began  to  comprehend  that  it  was  Death,  and  not  my 
father,  that  had  given  him  this  sword. 

"  '  Shall  we  not  wait  for  father  ? '  he  asked. 

" '  Your  father  waits  for  you,  my  boy/  was  her  reply, 
'  in  Walhalla,  in  the  halls  of  the  heroes.' 

" '  But  when  will  he  come  to  us  ? ' 

"  '  Never ! '  she  said.  And  then  for  the  first  time  he 
understood,  and  he  turned  aside  with  a  quivering  lip. 
For  it  was   instilled  into  us  from   infancy  that   brave 


AN  ANOL  0- SAX  ON  FAMIL  Y.  87 

men  must  not  weep,  least  of  all  the  sons  of  Woden.  I  do 
not  remember  feeling  any  disposition  for  tears.  There 
was  nothing  in  this  sorrow  to  soften  the  heart.  No  ten- 
der pressure  of  a  dying  hand,  no  tender  words  from 
dying  *lips  ;  only  a  wrench  of  hopeless  separation,  and  a 
bitter  agony  of  indignation,  and  loss,  and  revenge,  and 
hatred,  and  despair.  I  was  appalled,  tossed  like  the 
spirits  some  have  seen  in  visions,  from  the  ice  to  the 
flames ;  from  the  benumbing  pain  of  hopeless  bereave- 
ment to  the  burning  indignation  of  powerless  hatred. 
There  was  nothing  in  that  to  make  me  weep,  or  to  make 
me  better. 

"  The  only  tender  thought  left  in  me  was  for  my  mother. 
But,  unhappily,  her  grief  was  too  much  like  mine,  with 
all  the  added  intensity  of  her  womanhood,  for  me  to  com- 
fort her.     She  endured,  but  she  refused  all  comfort. 

"  The  depth  of  her  sorrow  was  best  understood  by  me 
through  the  passiveness  which  had  fallen  on  her,  now 
that  the  first  necessity  for  action  was  over. 

"  More  sorrows  awaited  us,  but  they  seemed  not  to 
move  her.  She  had  reached  the  depths,  and  all  the 
blows  of  Fate  could  sink  her  no  lower. 

"  The  ship  we  were  in  was  driven  on  the  coast  of 
Wales,  and  wrecked  there. 

"  The  British  wreckers  came  thronging  to  the  shore, 
and  we  were  taken  captive. 

"  As  we  were  driven  through  the  land  to  the  great 
slave-market  at  Chester,  our  captors  stopped  at  a  stone 
building,  where  we  were  met  by  a  procession  of  men  with 
black  robes  and  shaven  heads  (shaven  wholly,  in  the 
Eastern  mode,  not  with  the  coronal  tonsure  of  the  Latins). 
To  these  they  gave  my  mother's  amber  necklace,  and 
some  golden  bracelets,  which  had  been  my  father's  last 


88  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

present  to  me.  They  were  laid  on  the  altar  with  solem- 
nity, I  understood,  as  offerings  to  the  gods  of  the  land. 

"  That  was  my  first  glimpse  of  the  Christian  religion. 
Henceforth  I  included  what  our  enemies  worshipped  in 
my  detestation  of  them. 

"  Hitherto  we  three  had  not  been  separated.  At  Ches- 
ter this  also  awaited  us.  We  were  penned  like  cattle  in 
an  open  place  of  the  city  for  sale.  Two  men  approached 
us,  who  spoke  to  each  other  in  a  dialect  quite  sufficiently 
like  our  own  for  us  to  understand.  And  before  long  we 
understood  that  they  were  intending  to  purchase  us  sepa- 
rately. 

"  Then  my  mother's  calmness  gave  way  ;  and  she,  whose 
voice  I  had  always  been  accustomed  to  hear  in  calm  com- 
mand, knelt  to  those  strangers,  and  implored  them  with 
passionate  tears  to  let  us  be  together.  She  said  we  should 
be  better  worth  having  ;  she  would  do  the  work  of  two 
women  if  they  would  let  her  remain  with  us. 

"  But  it  was  in  vain.  They  did  not  seem  cruel  or  un- 
moved. But  they  were  agents  for  others.  They  were 
only  bargaining.  Leofric  and  I  were  purchased  by  one 
purchaser,  and  my  mother  was  bound  and  led  away  by 
the  other. 

When  she  saw  that  appeal  was  useless  she  regained 
all  her  old  dignity  ;  and  embracing  us  once,  she  suffered 
herself  to  be  led  away. 

"  But  I  could  not  so  easily  understand  the  hopelessness 
of  our  fate. 

"  With  my  childish  hands  I  seized  the  cord  that  bound 
her  wrists  from  the  man  who  was  leading  her  away,  and 
said, — 

" '  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  doing.  We  are  great 
people  at  home.    We  are  of  the  royal  race  of  Woden.' 


AN  ANOL  0- SAXON  FAMIL  Y.  89 

" '  Of  a  good  stock,  doubtless/  said  our  purchaser, '  or 
I  should  not  have  bought  you.  My  lord  has  I  know  not 
how  many  princes  tending  his  herds,  and  my  lady  as  many 
princesses  serving  in  her  bower.' 

"  Then,  not  cruelly,  but  roughly,  as  he  would  have 
seized  a  refractory  animal,  he  turned  me  from  my  mother, 
bound  my  wrists  and  Leofric's  with  strong  cords,  and 
drove  us  before  him. 

"  I  dare  not  even  now  dwell  on  the  bitter  humiliation 
of  that  day,  or  on  the  frantic  schemes  of  vengeance  which 
flitted  through  my  brain. 

"  I  wonder  often  when  I  hear  people  speak  of  sorrow 
as  if  it  must  make  us  better.  Sorrow  without  God,  sor- 
row without  the  knowledge  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows,  seems 
to  me  to  make  the  heart  bitter  and  savage, — not  like  the 
angels,  but  like  the  wild  beasts,  or  the  fallen  angels  who 
sorrow  for  evermore. 

"  It  was  only  Leofric,  my  little  brother,  that  kept  me 
human. 

"  It  was  long  before  I  learnt  that  resistance  was  quite 
in  vain,  and  only  bound  the  yoke  more  firmly  on  me. 
Then  I  subsided  into  sullen  subjection,  and  disputed  noth- 
ing ;  but  chiefly  I  learned  to  do  this  for  Leofric's  sake,  be- 
cause my  rebellion  brought  down  blows  upon  the  boy,  or 
separated  us.  Had  it  not  been  for  him,  I  think,  I  would 
have  resisted  to  the  end,  and  died. 

"  At  last  they  thought  my  spirit  was  sufficiently  bro- 
ken ;  and  being  (they  said)  fair  in  face,  and  quick  in  un- 
derstanding, I  was  given  to  the  Lady  Ethelberga,  the 
young  queen  of  King  Edwin  of  Northumbria — his  second 
wife,  but  lately  married,  and  come  into  the  North  from 
her  royal  home  in  Kent, — to  be  her  thrall.  Leofri  "5  was 
still  employed  outside  in  tending  the  royal  herds. 


9o  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

"  I  might  have  been  considered  fortunate.  The  young 
queen  was  not  unkind  to  me  ;  and  some  of  the  ladies  ad- 
mired my  cleverness,  and  my  blue  eyes,  and  abundant 
flaxen  hair.  But  it  seemed  to  me  they  petted  me  as  they 
would  a  bird  or  a  favourite  hound  ;  and  my  pride  revolted 
from  their  caresses  more  than  from  the  blows  and  rough 
words  to  which  I  had  been  used  before. 

"  Therefore,  before  long,  I  was  allowed  to  pursue  my 
duties  unnoticed  and  unreproved. '  I  learnt  to  embroider 
and  to  play  on  the  lyre.  But  no  threats  or  persuasions 
could  induce  me  to  sing.  Should  I  profane  the  ballads 
of  my  people,  learned  from  my  mother's  lips,  by  singing 
them  to  divert  these  strangers  ?  My  worst  care,  how- 
ever, began  to  be  for  Leofric.  His  disposition,  always 
gentler  than  mine,  seemed  to  me  to  be  losing  all  its  fire, 
and  I  feared  his  very  soul  was  growing  to  be  a  slave's  soul. 

"  Over  this  I  shed  many  bitter  tears. 

"  Again,  at  King  Edwin's  court,  I  came  in  contact  with 
the  Christian  religion. 

"  There  was  a  tall  monk  from  Italy  residing  in  the 
palace,  Bishop  Paulinus.  He  had  come  from  Kent  with 
the  queen. 

"  He  preached  often  concerning  the  faith ;  and  also 
spoke  in  private  to  any  one  who  would  listen.  But  at 
first  he  did  not  make  many  converts.  And  I  (God  for- 
give me)  hated  the  very  name  of  Christianity.  Was  it 
not  the  religion  of  my  captors  ?  Had  not  the  treasures 
of  which  we,  the  widow  and  fatherless,  had  been  robbed 
been  accepted  on  Christian  altars  ?  Moreover,  the  life 
of  those  monks  seemed  to  me  base  and  unmanly.  I  hated 
the  sight  of  their  smooth,  long,  foreign  faces,  and  their 
shaven  crowns.  It  seemed  to  me  a  miserable,  slavish 
existence,  for  a  man  to  glide  in  and  out  of  houses  clothed 


AN  ANGLO  8AX0N  FAMILY.  91 

in  a  long  robe  like  a  woman's,  and  droning  out  prayers 
and  psalms.  I  thought  the  stern  virtues  of  my  people 
nobler  than  these. 

"  There  was  great  pomp  at  King  Edwin's  court.  The 
great  hall  and  the  queen's  chamber  were  hung  with 
tapestries  ;  the  floors  were  strewn  every  day  with  fresh 
rushes.  The  state  dresses  of  the  queen  and  her  ladies 
were  of  silk  from  Asia,  embroidered  with  gold  ;  and  both 
men  and  women  wore  jewelled  necklaces  and  bracelets. 
The  king,  wherever  he  went,  was  preceded  by  standard- 
bearers  flaunting  the  royal  banners,  or  the  Tufa — the 
globe  fixed  on  the  spear. 

"  We  were  seldom  long  in  one  residence,  but  travelled 
from  one  royal  house  to  another,  for  the  king  to  adminis- 
ter justice  and  receive  tribute. 

"  We,  the  attendants,  commonly  went  before,  and  hung 
the  walls  with  the  silken  hangings,  and  strewed  the  floors 
with  fresh  rushes,  and  set  the  tables  with  the  golden  and 
silver  cups  and  dishes,  in  readiness  for  the  arrival  of  the 
court. 

"  Wherever  we  went,  the  Archbishop  Paulinus  had  a 
Christian  chapel,  where  he  and  the  good  deacon  Jacob, 
the  beautiful  singer  from  Rome,  chanted  the  church  ser- 
vices ;  and  Edwin,  the  king,  made  his  offerings  to  the  old 
Saxon  gods  of  our  fathers  in  the  temples  ; — to  Thor,  the 
Thunderer  ;  to  Frea,  the  Beautiful ;  and  to  Woden,  the 
All-father,  our  royal  forefather,  and  chief  of  all  the  gods. 

"  At  length  a  change  came  over  the  court.  We  wore 
living  at  the  royal  city  on  the  Derwent,  near  the  remains 
of  an  older  city,  Derventiona,  built  by  the  Romans.  I 
liked  to  be  there.  It  was  a  kind  of  bitter  comfort  to  me 
to  see  the  ruins  of  the  old  palaces  and  temples.  I  thought, 
1  Why  should  we  make  such  ado  ?    Not  only  men,  but 


92 


THE  EARL  Y  DA  WK 


nations  pass  away.  The  palaces  of  yesterday  will  be 
folds  for  flocks  to-morrow.' 

"  It  was  the  holy  Easter-tide,  and  Paulinus  and  the 
Christians  had  made  such  festival  as  they  could  in  a 
heathen  palace. 

"  On  that  day  the  king  also  sat  in  all  his  pomp,  to  re- 
ceive an  embassy  from  the  king  of  the  West  Saxons. 

"  Suddenly  we  in  the  queen's  apartments  heard  wild 
war-cries  and  a  confused  shouting  from  the  hall  where 
the  king  sat ;  and  soon  after  the  king  himself  appeared 
at  the  door,  white  and  silent,  and  then  a  body  was  borne 
out  covered.  And  we  were  told  that  the  supposed  am- 
bassador was  an  assassin,  who  had  been  sent,  armed  with 
a  poisoned  dagger,  from  the  West  Saxon  king  ;  and  thatj 
to  save  his  lord's  life,  Lilla,  the  brave  nobleman,  had 
made  a  buckler  of  his  own  body,  receiving  the  fatal  thrust 
in  his  breast.  Then  all  the  men  had  fallen  on  the  assas- 
sin, till  he  sunk  pierced  with  many  wounds. 

"  The  king  was  saved,  but  Lilla,  the  noblest,  was  slain. 

"  That  night  the  young  queen  bore  her  first  child,  the 
Princess  Eanfled. 

"  The  king  gave  thanks  to  the  gods  of  his  fathers — to 
Frea  and  to  Woden ;  but  Paulinus  rendered  praise  to 
Christ,  and  told  the  king  how  he  had  prayed  to  Him  for 
the  queen's  safety. 

"  The  king  was  moved,  and  vowed  that  in  case  God 
would  grant  him  victory  over  the  perfidious  West  Saxon 
king,  he  would  forsake  his  old  gods,  and  thenceforth 
serve  and  worship  none  but  Christ. 

"  The  victory  was  given.  King  Edwin  forsook  Woden 
and  Thor,  but  would  not  hastily  adopt  a  faith  of  which 
he  knew  so  little. 

"But  the  babe   Eanfled   was   baptized   with    twelve 


AN  ANGLO-SAXON  FAMILY. 


93 


others  of  the  royal  family.  And  among  those  was  the 
royal  maiden,  Hilda,  daughter  of  the  king's  nephew,  who 
afterwards  became  the  great  Abbess  Hilda. 

"  At  that  time  fe  Pope  Boniface  sent  letters  to  the 
king,  exhorting  him  to  become  a  Christian  ;  and  to  '  his 
illustrious  daughter/  the  Queen  Ethelberga,  admonishing 
her  to  labour  for  her  husband's  conversion.  With  the 
letters  came  presents  :  to  the  king,  a  shirt,  a  golden  orna- 
ment, and  a  garment  of  Ancyra  ;  to  the  queen,  a  silver 
hand-mirror  and  a  gilt  ivory  comb.  To  me  these  seemed 
presents  little  suitable  to  the  dignity  of  the  Northumbrian 
royalty.  But  from  many  expressions  dropped  by  the 
Italian  monks,  I  gathered  that  at  Rome  they  look  on  us 
Saxons  as  a  kind  of  rude  and  simple  savages.  As  if  not 
being  able  to  read,  like  the  monks,  out  of  books,  made 
men  to  be  children,  or  prevented  their  knowing  the  world 
and  the  wisdom  of  the  aged.  For  I  deem  that  men  were 
before  books,  and  that  those  who  can  speak  wise  words 
of  their  own  are  wiser  than  those  who  can  read  or  copy 
the  wise  words  of  other  men. 

"  It  was  not  the  Pope's  letters  which  fixed  King  Ed- 
win's purpose.     It  happened  thus  : 

"  Paulinus  had  been  permitted  to  preach  in  public,  and 
the  deacon  Jacob  to  chant  his  psalms.  For  many  days 
the  king  had  withdrawn  much  from  his  usual  amusements 
and  occupations,  and  had  wandered  moodily  about  the 
chambers,  or  sat  alone,  evidently  pondering  many  things 
in  his  heart.  At  length  his  resolution  was  taken,  and  he 
summoned  the  Witenagemot — the  great  council  of  the 
wise  men  of  his  nation — to  consider  the  great  question 
of  religion,  to  the  end  that  if  they  were  also  of  his  opin- 
ion, they  might  all  together  be  cleansed  in  Christ,  the 
Fountain  of  Life. 


94  THE  EARL  T  DA  WJST. 

"  Leo.ric  was  there  among  those  that  kept  the  door. 
What  he  saw  and  heard  moved  him  much. 

"  The  king  sat  tliere  on  his  oaken  chair  of  state,  with 
the  elders  of  his  people  gathered  around  him,  and  Pau- 
linus  beside  him.  Not  one  among  them  but  had  heard  of 
the  new  doctrine.  King  Edwin  asked  them  one  by  one 
what  they  thought  of  it.  He  sought  not  the  clamorous 
consent  of  a  crowd,  but  the  counsel  of  each  one. 

"  Coifi,  chief  of  the  priests  of  the  old  Saxon  gods,  an- 
swered at  once  : 

"  '  0  king,  consider  what  this  is  that  is  now  preached 
to  us  ;  for  I  verily  declare  to  you,  that  the  religion  which 
we  have  hitherto  professed,  has,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  no 
virtue  in  it.  For  none  of  your  people  has  applied  him- 
self more  diligently  to  the  worship  of  the  gods  than  I  ; 
and  yet  there  are  many  that  receive  more  favours  from 
you,  and  are  more  preferred  than  I,  and  are  more  pros- 
perous in  all  their  undertakings.  Now,  if  the  gods  were 
good  for  anything,  they  would  rather  forward  me,  who 
have  been  more  careful  to  serve  them.  It  remains,  there- 
fore, that  if,  upon  examination,  you  find  those  new  doc- 
trines which  are  now  preached  to  us  better  and  more 
efficacious,  we  immediately  receive  them,  without  any 
further  delay.' 

"But  another  of  the  king's  chief  men  spoke  more 
nobly,  and  said  :  '  The  present  life  of  man,  0  king,  seems 
to  me,  in  comparison  of  that  time  which  is  unknown  to 
us,  life  to  the  swift  flight  of  a  sparrow  through  the  room 
where  you  sit  at  supper  in  winter,  with  your  chief  men 
and  counsellors,  and  a  good  fire  in  the  midst,  whilst  the 
storms  of  rain  and  snow  prevail  abroad.  The  sparrow 
flying  in  at  one  door  and  out  at  the  other,  whilst  he  is 
within  is  safe  from  the  wintry  storm  j  but  after  a  short 


AN  ANGLO-SAXON  FAMILY.  95 

space  of  fair  weather,  lie  straightway  vanishes  out  of 
your  sight,  into  the  dark  winter  whence  he  came.  So, 
this  life  of  man  appears  for  a  short  space  ;  but  of  what 
went  before,  or  what  is  to  follow,  we  know  nothing.  If, 
therefore,  this  new  doctrine  contains  something  more 
sure,  it  seems  justly  to  deserve  to  be  followed.' 

"  Then  the  Italian  priest  arose  at  the  king's  command 
and  spoke.  A  strange  contrast  with  his  audience.  They, 
stalwart  and  large  in  form,  with  bearded  faces  and  fair 
hair,  with  broad  open  brows  and  honest  wondering  blue 
eyes  ;  he,  tall  and  spare,  with  a  slight  stoop  in  his  other- 
wise majestic  figure,  robed  in  a  long  black  robe  girded 
with  a  cord,  his  dark  brilliant  eyes  flashing  from  the  thin 
palid  face,  like  a  visible  triumph  of  the  spirit  over  the 
flesh.  And  the  contrast  in  his  speech  yet  greater.  The 
rich  flow  of  his  persuasive  eloquence  bore  the  hearts  of 
the  wise  men  with  him  ;  and  when  he  ceased,  Coifi  the 
priest  exclaimed  that  he  had  long  known  there  was  noth- 
ing in  what  they  worshipped,  but  now  he  plainly  saw 
that  in  this  teaching  were  life  and  salvation,  and  eternal 
happiness.  Therefore  he  counselled  that  those  unprofita- 
ble altars  where  he  had  so  long  served  in  vain  should  be 
destroyed  with  fire,  and  proposed  that  he  himself  should 
be  the  first  to  light  the  pile. 

"  This  took  place  in  the  council-hall,  and  not  long  af- 
terwards, before  we  heard  what  had  passed,  to  their 
amazement  the  people  beheld  Coifi  the  priest,  violating 
all  the  customs  of  our  race,  armed  with  unpriestly  arms, 
and  mounted  on  one  of  the  king's  war-horses,  ride  forth 
from  the  palace  to  the  ancient  temple  of  Woden,  the  All- 
father  and  Thor  the  Thunderer  at  Godmundham.  There 
he  launched  the  spear  into  the  sacred  precincts,  desecrat- 
ing them  by  the  act.    No  vengeance  followed  ;  where- 


96  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

fore  all  the  people  said  the  gods  were  nothing  ;  and  Coifi 
and  his  men  destroyed  the  temple  and  all  its  buildings 
with  fire. 

"  The  flames  burnt  on  into  the  night.  Leofric  and  I 
gazed  on  the  dread  unnatural  glare  from  a  field  near  the 
palace,  while  he  told  me  what  he  had  heard  in  the  coun- 
cil-hall. 

"'See,  Frideswide,'  he  said,  'no  avenging  fire  from 
heaven  meets  those  fires  of  defiance  from  earth.  Little 
cause  have  we  to  mourn  the  downfall  of  the  gods  who 
tempted  my  father  on  by  false  auguries,  and  then  aban- 
doned him  to  death  and  us  to  bondage.' 

"  ■  Yet/  I  said,  l  it  seems  to  me  ignoble  to  serve  or  to 
forsake  the  gods  for  such  reasons.  What  king  would 
care  for  loyalty  such  as  this  Coifi's,  measured  only  by  a 
calculation  of  his  gifts  !  If  the  prince  is  good,  and  our 
prince,  I  deem  we  should  follow  him,  not  only  to  victory, 
but  to  exile.  If  Woden  and  Thor  are  true  gods,  and  our 
gods,  the  fathers  and  lords  of  our  race,  though  all  the 
world  abandoned  them,  I  would  not.  The  life  of  the 
gods  is  long,  and  their  eyes  see  far  into  the  past  and  the 
future,  and  how  should  I  dispute  their  wisdom  or  theii 
will?' 

"  '  But,'  answered  Leofric, '  if,  as  the  other  counsellor 
said,  any  light  is  in  this  new  faith  which  would  show  us 
what  is  beyond  this  life,  it  would  be  worth  watching. 
For  truly  to  us  here  this  short  space  of  life  is  no  warmed 
and  lighted  hall  of  feasting,  but  cold  and  wintry  as  the 
world  outside.' 

" '  That  may  be,'  I  said  ; '  to  me  it  matters  little.  What 
to  me  is  any  world  beyond,  unless  our  father  and  our 
mother  are  there  ?  But  as  to  the  reasonings  of  this  Coifi, 
I  despise  them  in  my  heart.    These  are  not  the  motives 


AN  ANOL  0- SAXON  FAMIL  T.  97 

which  move  any  brave  man,  any  man  with  free  blood  in 
his  veins.  They  are  the  wretched  calculations  of  a  hire- 
ling or  a  slave.' 

"  Great  changes  followed.  All  the  nobility,  after  being 
instructed,  were  baptized  with  the  king,  and  many  of  the 
common  sort,  on  Easter  Day,  in  the  spring  over  which 
has  been  built  since  then  the  church  at  York.  The  na- 
tional temples  were  destroyed,  the  national  religion  was 
changed.  Wherever  the  court  journeyed,  Paulinus  and 
Jacob,  the  deacon,  journeyed  with  them.  Paulinus 
preached,  and  Jacob  chanted  the  Psalms  to  the  listening 
people.  Especially  was  this  the  case  at  Adgefrin,  the 
royal  seat  in  Glendale.  There  for  thirty-six  days  the 
people  flocked  in  to  listen  to  the  new  doctrine  from  all 
the  towns  and  villages  around.  From  morning  to  night 
Paulinus,  the  archbishop,  instructed  and  catechised  them, 
and  then  those  who  embraced  the  faith  were  baptized  in 
the  little  river  Glen. 

"  Leofrjc,  being  of  a  gentler  temper  than  I,  listened 
and  believed  ;  but  I  felt  as  if  this  new  faith  would  raise 
up  another  barrier  between  me  and  my  dead  father,  whom 
I  loved  beyond  all  dead  or  living ;  and  I  would  not 
listen.  Besides,  it  always  seemed  to  me — as  Paulinus 
sought  to  win  converts  by  promises  of  victory  and  pros- 
perity to  those  who  would  believe — like  a  mere  question 
of  strength  between  two  rival  chiefs.  I  cared  little  which 
prevailed  ;  but  I  honoured  the  old  heroes  better  than  the 
new  monks,  and  I  would  not  desert  my  father's  gods. 
And  being  of '  the  common  sort/  I  was  left  to  myself. 

"Days  of  peace  and  prosperity  followed.     In  river 

after  river  throughout  the  fair  valleys  of  Northumbria, 

multitudes  of  people  were  baptized  ;  in  the  Glen,  the 

Derwent,  the  Swale,  and  the  Trent.     In  town  after  town 

5 


98  m     THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

the  white-robed  converts  kept  their  baptismal  festival. 
There  was  gladness  and  peace  throughout  the  land.  It 
became  a  proverb  that  wheresoever  the  dominion  of  King 
Edwin  extended  '  a  woman  with  her  new-born  babe  might 
walk  from  sea  to  sea  without  harm  or  peril.'  And  so 
strong  was  the  law,  and  so  great  the  love  of  the  king, 
that  the  brazen  cups  which  he  caused  to  be  suspended  on 
stakes  near  the  clear  springs  in  the  highways,  for  way- 
farers to  drink,  were  safe  as  in  the  royal  treasure-chests. 
In  Lindsey  (Lincoln)  also,  and  the  province  of  the  East 
Angles,  the  faith  spread. 

"  Not  that  there  was  no  sorrow  in  the  palace.  Well  I 
remember  the  weeping  of  the  queen  when  two  fair  babes, 
Ethelhun  and  Etheldrith,  lay  lifeless  in  their  white 
christening  garments,  and  were  buried  in  the  new  church 
at  York,  where  the  king  had  been  baptized.  '  But  I  saw 
there  was  a  hope  in  these  Christians,  which  made  death 
not  the  same  to  them  as  to  me.  And  that  teas  the  first 
thing  which  moved  me  toivards  them.  But  this  was  only 
a  passing  cloud.  All  the  land  had  rest.  All  men  held 
Paulinus  to  be  a  prophet ;  every  mouth  was  full  of  the 
peace  and  prosperity  the  new  faith  had  brought. 

"  Then  suddenly,  like  a  dream,  the  whole  bright  scene 
vanished,  and  instead  came  ruin,  and  defeat,  and  death. 

"  King  Edwin  was  slain  in  battle.  Paulinus  and  the 
queen,  with  the  orphaned  children,  fled  to  Kent.  Cad- 
walla,  king  of  the  Britons,  called  a  Christian,  came  from 
the  west ;  and  Penda,  the  heathen  king  of  the  Mer- 
cians, joined  him  from  the  south  ;  and  together  they 
ravaged  the  land  far  and  wide.  None  were  spared  for 
any  merciful  reason,  and  few  of  the  slain  escaped  with 
only  death.  It  was  a  war  of  vengeance.  If  all  the  Asse 
had  descended  from  Asgard  to  avenge  their  insulted 


AN  ANGLO-SAXON  FAMILY. 


99 


temples,  the  desolation  could  not  have  been  more 
cruel. 

"  Many,  indeed,  believed  it  was  so,  and  abandoned  the 
faith  which  had  been  proclaimed  to  them  with  earthly 
promises,  when  these  promises  failed.  The  foreign  clergy 
fled,  with  golden  cross  and  chalice,  over  the  seas  to  Can- 
terbury ;  the  churches  were  destroyed  as  the  heathen 
temples  had  been. 

"  One  night  in  that  terrible  time,  when  Leofric  and  I 
were  wandering  in  the  fields  round  the  village  of  Ake- 
borough,  near  the  city  of  Richmond,  we  heard  sweet 
sounds  of  solemn  music  from  a  dwelling  near — not  the 
wild  cadences  of  heathen  music,  but  sustained  and  grave, 
such  as  the  Gregorian  chants  the  Italians  had  brought 
from  Italy. 

"  We  found  it  was  the  good  Deacon  Jacob,  who,  being 
only  a  deacon  and  a  singer,  had  yet  remained  to  keep 
the  flock  together  when  bishop  and  priest  had  fled.  He 
had  not,  perchance,  wit  to  preach,  or  strength  to  rule ; 
but  he  had  a  voice  to  sing  God's  praises,  and  a  heart  to 
serve.  Throughout  the  storm  he  abode  steadfast,  keep- 
ing up  the  courage  and  nourishing  the  faith  of  the  few 
who  clung  to  him  and  to  Christ,  with  Christian  hymns 
and  old  prophetic  psalms.  That  was  the  second  thing 
that  moved  me  towards  the  Christian  faith.  A  faith 
which  could  give  hope  in  death,  and  inspire  hymns  of 
praise  amidst  such  ruin,  seemed  to  me  worth  listening  to. 
For  the  first  time  I  asked  Leofric  to  speak  to  me  of 
Christianity  ;  but  we  had  little  time  then  for  speech  or 
thought. 

"  Battle  followed  battle,  one  king  after  another  was 
slain.  Wherever  we  went  we  came  to  the  blackened 
ruins  of  towns  and  homesteads,  or  trod  the  wasted  fields. 


I  oo  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

Yet  those  times  were  not  utterly  miserable  to  me.  Leof- 
ric  and  I  were  free  to  wander  whither  we  would. 

"At  length  King  Oswald  came,  son  of  the  ancient 
kings  of  the  land,  and  rightful  heir  from  his  birth,  and 
set  up  the  wooden  cross  before  his  army  in  the  place 
called  Heavenfield  (Hallington),  near  the  old  Eoman 
wall.  And  kneeling  before  it,  he  said  aloud  to  all  his 
men, '  Let  us  all  kneel,  and  jointly  beseech  the  true  and 
living  God  Almighty  in  his  mercy  to  defend  us  from  the 
haughty  and  fierce  enemy  ;  for  He  knows  we  have  under- 
taken a  just  war  for  the  defence  of  the  nation/ 

"  Then,  with  the  first  dawn  of  day,  advancing  on  his 
foes,  the  victory  was  his.  The  tide  of  conquest  was 
turned,  and  the  foe  was  once  more  driven  from  the  land. 

"  Our  rescue,  however,  was  not  yet  come.  Leofric  and 
I  were  once  more  taken  captive,  and  sold  as  slaves  to  the 
conqueror.  The  little  glimpse  of  liberty  we  had  enjoyed 
might  have  made  the  bondage  bitterer  ;  but  the  hymns 
of  the  good  Deacon  Jacob  rang  through  my  heart,  and  I 
felt  less  desolate  than  before. 

"  We  were  thralls  of  Oswald  the  king.  But  at  last,  in 
my  bondage,  the  word  reached  me  which  set  my  heart 
for  ever  free. 

"  King  Oswald  sent  for  Christian  teachers  from  the 
North,  where  he  had  received  the  faith  ;  and  they  came 
from  the  sacred  island  of  Iona,  on  the  western  shores  of 
the  land  of  the  Scots — holy  and  humble  men,  who  would 
accept  no  gifts  for  themselves,  nor  assume  any  state  such 
as  the  Italians  deemed  their  due.  They  would  not  ride 
in  ease  or  pomp  through  the  land,  but  walked  from  vil- 
lage to  village,  conversing  with  such  as  they  met,  search- 
ing out  the  wants  of  the  poor,  comforting  the  afflicted, 
and  reproving  the  oppressor. 


AN  ANGL  OS  AXON  FAMIL  Y.  j  o  i 

"  Greatest  and  humblest  of  all  these  was  Bishop  Aiclan. 
In  him  first  I  learned  to  understand  how  a  Christian 
monk  may  be  nobler  than  any  hero  of  the  race  of  Woden, 
and  win  nobler  victories. 

"  Never  shall  I  forget  the  first  time  I  heard  him,  when 
first  he  came,  and  Oswald  the  king  sat  at  his  feet  and 
interpreted  his  words  to  the  people. 

"  He  promised  nothing,  on  earth.  How  should  he  care 
to  do  so  whose  life  so  plainly  showed  that  his  hopes  and 
joys  belonged  to  quite  another  sphere  ? 

"  He  spoke  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  the  '  gentle- 
hearted  Saviour,  who  came  from  heaven  to  this  middle 
earth  to  open  heaven  to  sinful  man  ; — who,  not  ceasing 
to  be  God,  became  also  man,  that  he  might,  by  his  pas- 
sion and  death,  make  men  sons  of  God.' 

"  Much  of  this  I  must  have  heard  from  Paulinus  be- 
fore, but  the  words  seemed  new  to  me  from  Bishop 
Aidan's  lips.  God  the  Almighty  had  been  slowly  loosen- 
ing the  bars  of  my  heart,  as  the  sun  loosens  the  ice-bars 
from  the  earth  ;  and  when  He  himself,  through  the  word 
of  his  servant,  came  to  the  door  and  knocked,  it  opened 
softly,  without  resistance,  and  the  closed  door  of  my  poor, 
dark,  and  narrow  heart,  became  a  window  into  his  world 
of  love  and  joy  ;  the  threshold  of  my  heart  became  to  me 
the  threshold  of  his  kingdom. 

"  But  most  of  all  I  rejoiced  for  the  name  the  holy  Aidan 
gave  our  Lord — the  name  of  Redeemer,  Himself  the  Re- 
deemer and  the  Ransom.  Then  and  there  it  flashed  into 
my  heart,  as  I  stood  far  back  in  the  throng  among  the 
other  slaves,  lI  am  free.  Christ  the  Lord  has  made  me 
free.  Henceforth  men  may  claim  the  service  of  my  hands 
in  this  short  life,  but  my  heart  is  free  ;  i"  am  free.  The 
Redeemer  has  redeemed  me  with  his  precious  blood.     I 


102  THE  EARLY  DA  WK 

am  his  freed  woman  and  his  willing  thrall  for  ever,  and 
his  alone/ 

"  I  cannot  tell  the  thrill  of  liberty  that  went  through 
my  heart  at  that  moment.  I  did  not  speak  to  any  one 
then  about  it.  It  is  not  the  way  of  our  race  to  speak 
quickly  of  that  which  touches  the  depths  of  our  hearts. 
And  I  understood  so  little  what  I  felt ;  how  could  I 
speak  ? 

"  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  my  spirit  ceased  to  chafe 
against  my  bondage.  I  felt  I  had  an  inner,  imperishable 
freedom,  none  could  touch.  The  next  day  I  went  about 
my  work  with  a  heart  as  light  as  if  it  had  been  for  my 
mother.  Bishop  Aidan  had  said  we  were  all '  redeemed 
servants  of  the  Lord  Christ.'  My  fears  for  Leofric  also 
were  gone.  If  he  believed  this  ennobling  doctrine, 
which  enabled  all  men  to  become,  as  it  were,  household 
servants  of  the  Lord  of  all,  I  felt  no  slavery  could  enslave 
his  soul. 

"  This  was  at  Bishop  Aidan's  first  visit.  Then  for  a 
time  he  departed  to  the  island  of  Lindisfarne,  which  the 
king  had  given  him  to  build  a  monastery  thereon,  as  on 
the  holy  island  of  Iona  whence  he  came. 

"  Neither  Leofric  nor  I,  nor  any  we  knew,  could  read  ; 
but  many  around  us  had  heard  one  portion  or  another  of 
the  history  of  the  Redeemer,  and  piece  by  piece  we  learned 
the  story  of  his  wondrous  birth ;  of  Mary,  the  most 
blessed  maiden  mother  ;  of  His  painful  life,  His  journey- 
ings,  and  His  teachings ;  of  the  sick  he  healed ;  of  the 
sinners  he  forgave  and  made  saints  ;  of  his  bitter  passion 
and  death  on  the  shameful  cross  for  us  ;  of  his  resurrec- 
tion, and  his  ascension,  in  the  sight  of  those  who  loved 
him,  into  heaven  ;  of  his  sending  the  Holy  Ghost  to  teach 
and  comfort  us  who  still  stray  on  this  dim  middle  earth. 


AJST  ANGL  0- SAXON  FAMIL  Y.  103 

When,  therefore,  Bishop  Aidan  came  again  and  catechised 
us^he  deemed  us  fit  to  be  baptized  ;  and  we  went  down 
into  the  river  Derwent  at  Easter,  and  were  baptized,  even 
as  our  souls  were  bathed  in  Christ,  the  Fountain  of  Life. 

"  Then  came  the  eight  days  of  holy  festivity,  sacred 
and  festive  to  slave  as  to  freeman  ;  while  we  kept  on  the 
white  baptismal  robes,  and  were  much  in  the  church 
listening  to  holy  discourses,  and  learning  by  heart  and 
chanting  hymns  in  our  native  Saxon — the  Te  Deum,  the 
Apostles'  Creed,  the  Our  Father. 

"  Not  long  afterwards,  the  good  bishop  himself  called 
us  to  him,  learning  that  we  were  brother  and  sister,  and 
asked  us  of  our  kindred.  He  had  a  way  of  finding  out 
the  oppressed  and  sorrowful,  and  his  face  was  fullT>f 
tender  pity  as  he  listened  to  our  story.  He  asked  us 
straitly  also  of  the  name  of  our  mother,  and  whither  she 
had  gone  into  bondage.  But  we  could  tell  him  little  ; 
long  before  this,  we  feared,  she  mustxhave  sunk  beneath 
her  griefs,  and  died.  Then  he  said  he  had  money  given 
to  him  to  liberate  those  who  had  been  unjustly  made 
slaves,  and  he  offered  to  ransom  Leofric,  and  teach  him, 
among  other  youths  he  was  training,  to  be  a  priest  and 
a  learned  man. 

"  Leofric  hesitated  long.  He  could  not  bear  to  leave 
me  ;  but  at  length  I  prevailed  on  him,  and  he  went  with 
the  holy  bishop. 

"  The  days  were  lonelier  than  I  had  thought  they 
would  be  when  he  went.  I  had  been  used  to  guide  him 
like  a  mother  rather  than  a  sister,  being  older,  and  hav- 
ing the  stronger  will  of  the  two.  It  was  not  until  he 
went  that  I  found  out  how  often  his  good  sense  and  gen- 
tle strength  had  led  me,  when  my  more  vehement  pur- 
pose had  seemed  to  be  ruling  him. 


104 


THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 


"  Such  separations  are  needful  in  life,  sometimes,  to 
make  us  understand  what  our  beloved  are  to  .us,  and  we 
to  them. 

"  But  the  lesson  was  hard.  As  regards  earth  I  felt 
like  one  of  whom  I  have  heard,  who  was  healed  of  a 
fever,  but  left  deaf  and  blind.  Such  a  blank  the  world 
seemed  to  me  without  one  familiar  voice,  or  one  beloved 
face  for  which  to  watch. 

"  Had  it  not  been  for  the  Our  Father  and  the  Creed  ; 
had  it  not  been  for  the  Redeemer  and  his  presence,  what 
would  have  become  of  me  then  ? 

"  And,  alas,  this  was  what  our  mother  had  borne  ;  this, 
without  heaven  to  hope  for !  without  knowing  the  suffer- 
ing Lord  and  his  cross  ! 

"  It  did  not  last  long.  God  was  pitiful  to  my  impa- 
tient heart. 

"  One  summer  evening,  I  had  been  sitting  spinning 
among  the  maidens  and  directing  their  work,  which  was 
my  task,  till  it  grew  dusk  \  and  then,  when  the  others  had 
gone  to  their  work  in  the  house  and  farm,  and  I  had 
gathered  up  the  cloth  and  wool,  the  distaffs  and  the 
wheels,  and  made  all  ready  for  the  evening  meal,  I  went 
to  the  door  for  a  few  minutes  restlessly,  as  if  I  had  some 
one  to  watch  for,  as  I  had  been  used  to  watch  for  Leofric. 

"  I  knew  too  well  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  wait 
for  ;  but  that  night  there  were  strange  yearnings  in  my 
heart,  wherefore  I  lifted  up  my  heart  and  said  the  Our 
Father.  But  I  did  not  get  beyond  '  Thy  tvitt  be  done,1 
for  while  I  was  thinking  if  I  could  say  it  truly,  my  eye 
lighted  on  two  figures  in  the  distance  moving  slowly 
through  the  deepening  twilight ;  one  bowed  and  feeble, 
the  other  erect  and  tall. 

"  And  in  another  minute  I  had  folded  my  mother  in 


AN  ANGL  0- SAX  ON  FAMIL  Y.  105 

my  arms.  Yes,  she  was  folded  to  my  heart,  not  I  to 
hers !  So  little  power  seemed  left  in  her  who  had  left 
us  so  fair  and  strong.  The  old  bitter  passion  of  revenge 
glowed  up  again  in  my  heart.  Yet  I  do  not  think  her 
bondage  had  been  cruel ;  it  had  only  been  hopeless. 
Mechanically  she  had  been  driven  from  task  to  task,  un- 
resisting and  uncomplaining,  until  all  the  light  of  her  soul 
seemed  to  have  shrunk  into  a  time-lamp  to  measure  the 
hours  of  labour. 

"  Nervously,  as  we  sat  beside  her,  weeping,  with  our 
hands  in  hers,  every  now  and  then  she  looked  up  and 
said  gently,  and  with  a  kind  of  wistful  tenderness,  'I 
must  not  keep  you  ;  we  must  not  be  late/ 

"  Bishop  Aidan  had  purchased  her  freedom.  Leofric 
had  found  her  after  a  perilous  search,  and  had  brought 
her  to  me.  The  good  king  Oswald  himself  had  pity  on 
us  and.  set  me  free.  A  little  land  was  given  us  on  the 
coast,  near  Whitby,  the  abbey  of  the  Abbess  Hilda. 
Leofric  deemed  it  his  first  duty — and  so  did  Bishop 
Aidan — to  abide  with  our  widowed  mother  and  with  me. 
Before  long,  he  made  a  fishing-boat,  and  we  three  once 
more  dwelt  together  in  our  wooden  hut  looking  over  the 
Eastern  Sea, 

"  Thus  passed  many  years. 

"  Slowly  a  little  light  came  back  into  our  mother's 
mind.  She  ceased  to  count  the  hours  with  such  restless 
anxiety.  She  suffered  us  to  caress  and  tend  her  as  we 
would  a  petted  sick  child  ;  and  by  degrees  the  great  bit- 
terness passed  from  our  hearts,  and  we  loved  her  as  she 
was.  Sometimes  she  would  be  watching  for  me  or  for 
Leofric  when  either  of  us  came  back  from  field  or  sea, 
and  her  face  would  light  up  with  a  feeble  smile,  like  the 
sunshine  dimly  struggling  through  the  mists  of  the  valley. 
5* 


io6  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

And  now  and  then  she  would  stroke  my  hair,  and 
say,— 

" '  Little  Frideswide's  hair  was  fair  and  soft  like  this/ 

"  But  how  far  she  connected  us  with  those  dim,  tender 
recollections  we  never  knew. 

"  Meantime  the  abbey  of  the  Abbess  Hilda  rose  before 
us  on  the  height  of  Streaneschalch,  the  Bay  of  the  Light- 
house *  above  the  sea  ;  and  now  and  then  Leofric  would 
go  in  his  boat  to  carry  an  offering  of  fish  to  Lindisfarne* 
the  Holy  Island,  and  bring  back  tidings  of  Bishop 
Aidan  and  his  work  ;  how  the  oaken  church  was  rising, 
cased  with  lead,  on  the  summit  of  the  island  ;  and  the 
humble  wooden  huts  of  the  good  monks  were  clustering 
round  it ;  and  how  men  and  women  were  being  gathered 
by  the  preaching  of  these  holy  men  throughout  Nor- 
thumbria  into  the  Church.  For,  while  the  Scotch  built 
their  churches  of  wood,  they  built  countless  costly  living 
stones  into  the  Church. 

"  Leofric  would  usually  stay  some  days  at  Lindisfarne. 
He  felt  it  like  an  opening  into  the  heavens  ;  where  the 
messengers  of  God,  like  the  holy  angels,  ascended  and 
descended  between  God  and  man ;  linked  to  heaven  by 
prayer,  and  praise,  and  study  of  the  sacred  Scriptures ; 
and  to  man  by  ceaseless  ministries  of  love.  The  brethren 
owned  no  property  whatever.  What  money  they  re- 
ceived was  spent  at  once  in  relieving  the  poor,  and  in 
ransoming  slaves  and  captives.  Kings,  and  ealdormen, 
and  thanes,  visiting  their  island  for  instruction  or  for 
worship,  contented  themselves  with  the  frugal  fare  of 
the  monks.  Lindisfarne  was  a  place  of  continual  move- 
ment and  activity,  and  yet  of  deep  repose  of  heart. 
Thither   continually  missionaries  were  returning,  with 

*  Whitby. 


AN  ANGL  OS 'AXON  FAMIL  Y.  107 

tidings  of  how  their  work  had  sped  throughout  the  land, 
even  beyond  the  limits  of  Northumbria  and  Lindsey, 
East  Anglia,  Mercia,  and  even  in  Wessex  ;  of  kings  bow- 
ing their  necks  to  the  yoke  of  Christ ;  of  humble  men  en- 
lightened by  the  truth  ;  of  monasteries  founded  ;  of  eager 
crowds  flocking  to  listen  to  them  in  the  towns  ;  of  soli- 
tary crags  which  they  scaled  to  tell  the  holy  Gospel  to 
robbers  and  outlaws.  And  thence,  after  a  period  of  re- 
pose beside  those  still  waters  of  life,  spent  in  reading  the 
Scriptures,  committing  psalms  to  memory,  or  storing  the 
mind  with  sacred  hymns,  the  monks  would  go  forth  again 
two  and  two,  on  foot,  with  no  provision  but  such  food  as 
they  could  carry,  to  traverse  the  land  east  and  west* 
north  and  south  ;  crossing  the  pathless  moors,  penetrat- 
ing into  the  remotest  valleys  ;  ever  as  they  went  address- 
ing all  they  met,  noble  or  peasant,  heathen  or  Christian  ; 
seeking  to  lead  the  unbelievers  to  Christ,  the  Fountain  of 
Love ;  and  to  invite  the  believers  to  alms  and  works  of  love. 

"  Leofric  would  often  remain  many  days  with  the 
brethren  ;  but  I  rejoiced  in  these  visits,  for  he  pursued 
his  studies  there,  learned  to  read  and  write,  and  always 
brought  back  in  his  memory  some  new  hymn,  or  psalm, 
or  sacred  history,  of  which  he  would  discourse  to  us  and 
to  the  neighbours  long  afterwards. 

"  On  the  summer  evenings,  when  I  was  watching  for 
him,  I  used  to  know  he  was  coming  by  the  floating  of  the 
well-known  chants  across  the  sea  in  the  intervals  between 
the  breaking  of  the  waves. 

"  Well  I  remember  one  evening  the  awe  that  shadowed 
his  face  when  we  thus  met,  and  I  feared  to  question  him 
dreading  whether  some  terrible  chance  had  happened  to 
Bishop  Aidan,  our  dear  father  in  God  ;  when  he  told  me 
that  a  new  and  dreadful  kind  of  infidels  had  arisen  iu 


1 08  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WK 

the  East  under  the  guidance  of  one  Mahomet,  who  had 
laid  the  ancient  churches  waste  with  fire  and  sword,  and 
that  now  the  very  sepulchre  of  our  Lord,  and  Mount  Zion 
itself,  had  fallen  into  their  hands.  This  had  happened  in 
633,  the  year  after  our  father  Aidan  was  appointed 
bishop,  but  it  was  only  now  that  the  certain  tidings  had 
reached  us. 

"  A  great  weight  rested  on  us  long  after  that,  and  on 
all  the  neighbours  when  they  heard  it.  We  remembered 
how  we  had  seen  the  sun  and  the  moon  darkened  not 
long  before,  and  the  stars  falling  from  their  places  in  the 
sky,  and  beheld  awful  glares  of  lightning  across  the  sea 
in  the  eastern  sky,  and  we  thought  the  Anti-christ  had 
surely  come,  and  that  God  would  not  suffer  the  world  to 
last  much  longer. 

"  But  that  was  fifty  years  ago,  and  his  long-suffering 
endureth  yet.     So  little  can  we  measure  his  times. 

"  These  tidings,  however,  made  time  and  its  joys  and 
cares  seem  very  brief,  and  the  thought  which  I  had  had 
before  gained  strength  in  me,  that  I  was  withholding 
Leofric  from  the  service  of  the  Lord. 

"  I  cast  about  much  in  my  mind  to  find  how  I  could 
support  my  mother  without  him.  I  did  not  think  her 
maintenance  would  be  difficult  to  secure.  The  sea  was 
as  familiar  to  our  race  as  the  land,  and  I  felt  sure  that 
with  the  fisher-boy  who  accompanied  my  brother  I  could 
have  cast  the  -nets  and  also  tilled  land  enough  for  our 
nourishment.  But  the  difficulty  was  that  I  could  not 
leave  my  mother  alone. 

"  In  this  perplexity  I  at  length  resolved  to  consult  the 
Abbess  Hilda,  that  loyal  lady  whom  all  that  knew  her 
called  mother  for  her  singular  piety  and  grace.*    She 

»V.  Bede. 


AN  ANGL  0- SAXON  FAHIL  Y.  1 09 

seemed  to  me,  from  all  I  heard  of  her,  to  be  like  one  of 
the  ancient  priestesses  or  wise  women  of  our  people,  only 
enlightened  from  heaven,  and  hallowed  by  Christian  love  ; 
such  insight  was  in  her  to  discern  the  right,  and  such 
decision  to  pursue  it. 

"  All  in  our  neighbourhood  prized  her  counsel  above 
that  of  any,  detached  as  she  was  from  all  things  of  mere 
earthly  interest,  yet  linked  to  all  men  by  warm,  womanly 
sympathy. 

"  My  difficulties  vanished  when  I  saw  her.  She  had 
no  doubt  that  if  Leofric  had  indeed  a  call  from  our  Lord 
to  follow  him  and  teach  men,  being  himself  instructed 
and  approved  by  Bishop  Aidan  (who  was  to  her  as  a 
father)  he  should  be  ordained  and  go  forth  to  preach. 

"  We  could  come,  she  said,  and  reside  near  her  mon- 
astery, and  when  I  must  be  absent  one  of  the  sisters  could 
watch  my  mother.  Thus  the  way  was  made  smooth ; 
Leofric  went  with  a  joyful  heart  to  join  the  brethren  at 
Lindisfarne,  and  our  mother  and  I  removed  to  a  cottage 
near  the  monastery  of  Whitby,  the  Bay  of  the  Light-house, 
and  worked  in  the  fields  or  cast  the  nets  from  our  boat 
into  the  sea. 

"  We  were  near  enough  to  be  present  at  many  of  the 
services,  and  often  in  the  night  we  heard  the  nocturnal 
praises  of  the  brethren  and  the  sisters.  The  quiet  music 
seemed  to  soothe  my  mother  wondrously.  Sometimes,  as 
she  held  up  her  finger  and  listened,  the  light  of  thought 
seemed  to  dawn  faintly  in  her  eyes,  like  one  half  awaking 
from  a  troubled  dream.  And ,  those  were  blessed  and 
fruitful  days  for  me.  In  my  spare  hours  I  learned  to  read 
in  our  Saxon  tongue.  We  used  also  to  hear  wonderful 
tidings  from  pilgrims  who  had  been  beyond  the  seas, — 
of  the  infidels  wl  0  had  taken  Jerusalem,  of  the  sepulchres 


l  io  THE  EARLY  DAWK 

of  the  apo3tles  and  martyrs  at  Rome,  of  the  heaving  to 
and  fro  of  the  nations,  of  ancient  churches  swept  away 
in  the  East,  of  heathen  tribes  of  our  race  converted  to 
the  faith  of  Christ,  of  holy  hermits  lighting  the  candle  of 
the  Lord  among  the  barbarous  people  in  the  wild  forests, 
and  sometimes  of  martyrdoms.  Marvellous  stories  also 
we  heard  of  miracles  wrought  by  the  bones  of  holy  men, 
and  even  by  the  earth  on  their  graves  ;  of  storms  calmed 
by  prayer  and  by  the  holy  oil  poured  on  the  waves  ;  of 
visions  of  heaven  and  hell  seen  by  dying  men  and 
women. 

"  For  not  only  from  the  region  about  us  did  people 
come  to  consult  the  Abbess  Hilda  ;  kings  and  princes  and 
noblemen  came  from  far  and  near  to  learn  of  her  and  to 
see  her  holy  life.  Such  zeal  also  did  she  inspire  in  the 
brethren  and  sisters  under  her  guidance  for  the  study  of 
Holy  Scriptures  and  for  good  works,  that  five  bishops 
renowned  for  wisdom  and  sanctity  issued  from  her  mon- 
astery, namely,  Bosa,  Hedda,  Oftfor,  John,  and  Wilfrid. 

"  To  her  also  was  brought  Caedmon  the  herdsman- 
poet,  who  sang  to  our  people  of  the  creation,  of  the  de- 
parture of  the  children  of  Israel  from  out  of  Egypt,  and 
their  entering  into  the  land  of  promise,  of  the  incarnation, 
passion,  resurrection,  and  ascension  of  our  Lord,  and  of 
the  coming  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

"  Sometimes  I  used  to  think,  when  our  own  mother  was 
taken  from  us,  I  should  like  nothing  better  than  to  live  a 
religious  life  under  the  Abbess  Hilda.  But  when  I 
thought  of  this  I  generally  pictured  myself  as  an  abbess 
rather  than  a  nun.  The  Abbess  Hilda's  life  was  indeed 
varied  and  rich  in  interest,  but  it  seemed  to  me  my  spirit 
would  chafe  under  the  regular  round  of  monotonous  oc- 
cupations whirh  occupied  most  of  the  sisters ;  I  feared 


A 2T  ANGL  0-8 AXON  FAMIL  Y.  1 1 1 

that  I  might  grow  worse  instead  of  better  under  such  a 
discipline. 

""  And  therefore,  when  Alfhelm  the  Thane  asked  me  to 
become  his  wife,  and  offered  to  take  my  mother  to  be  his, 
I  thought  it  best  to  do  as  he  said. 

"  After  that  we  divided  our  days  between  a  farm  he 
had  near  Whitby  and  his  sheep-walks  among  these 
mountains. 

"  When  our  first  child  was  born  our  mother  took  a 
wondrous  delight  in  it.  She  seemed  to  consider  it  her 
own,  and  would  nurse  it  for  hours,  lavishing  the  tenderest 
endearments  on  it.  For  the  first  time  she  seemed  for 
hours  together  to  come  out  of  her  dream  ;  and  from  those 
days  her  mind  gathered  a  little  strength,  so  that  she 
even  learned  by  degrees  the  Our  Father,  and  such 
simple  words  of  prayer  and  praise  to  our  Lord  and 
Saviour  as  we  could  teach  the  little  ones,  and  with  them 
was  baptized. 

"  So  it  went  on  until  one  summer  her  strength  failed, 
and  we  carried  her  into  the  Abbess  Hilda's  monastery, 
to  see  if  the  nursing  of  the  sisters  might  restore  her. 
All  remedies,  howe.ver,  failed,  and  at  midnight  sne  passed 
silently  away  with  her  hand  in  Leofric's  and  mine, 
breathing  faintly  old  familiar  names,  our  father's  and 
ours ;  and  we  thought,  among  them,  the  name  of  Christ. 
So  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  we  thought  she  was  gone, 
when  once  more  they  opened  with  a  look  of  conscious 
wonder  and  awe  and  joy  in  them  that  we  can  never 
forget.  And  so  she  fell  asleep,  while  the  sisters  in  the 
church  were  singing — 

4  We  are  thine  Israel ; 

We  joy  in  thee,  0  God ; 


1 1 2  THE  EARLY  DA  WK 

And  we  the  ancient  foe  repel, 
Redeemed  by  Christ's  own  blood, 

•  At  midnight  bursts  the  cry, 

(So  saith  the  Evangelist), 
"Arise !  the  Bridegroom  draweth  nigh, 
The.  King  of  Heaven,  the  Christ." 

*  At  midnight's  season  chill 

Lay  Paul  and  Silas  bound; 
Bound  and  in  prison  sang  they  still, 
And,  singing,  freedom  found, 

4  Our  prison  is  this  earth, 

And  yet  we  sing  to  thee  I 
Break  sin's  strong  fetters,  lead  us  forth, — 
Set  us,  believing,  free.' 

"And  as  they  sang,  her  fettered  spirit,  long  since 
ransomed,  was  set  free  for  ever. 

"After  that,  troubles  came  upon  the  Church.  Our 
father  Aidan,  the  apostle  of  Northumbria,  died.  Foreign 
priests  arrived  again  from  Italy,  and  disturbed  the 
minds  of  the  simple  people,  saying  that  the  holy  Aidan 
and  his  Scotch  monks  had  taught  schismatic  practices ; 
namely,  shaving  the  heads  of  priests  wholly,  instead  of 
leaving  a  crown  of  hair,  in  imitation  of  the  sacred  crown 
of  thorns  ;  and  observing  Easter  on  a  different  Sunday 
from  all  Western  Christendom. 

"  The  Abbess  Hilda  opposed  this  foreign  teaching  and 
dictation  with  all  her  might,  as  a  free  Saxon  lady  and  a 
true  disciple  of  Bishop  Aidan,  who  had  been  consecrated 
a  nun  by  him. 

"  However,  in  the  council  held  at  her  abbey  of  Whitby, 
King  Oswy  (the  good  King  Oswald  being  dead)  decided 
that  the  foreign  monks,  with  whom  his  Kentish  queen 


AN  ANGLOSAXON  FAMILY. 


U3 


Eanfleda  agreed,  held  the  right.  Many,  deeming  these 
questions  of  less  moment  than  peace  and  union,  sub- 
mitted ;  but  Bishop  Colman,  Aidan's  successor,  withdrew 
with  his  Scotch  monks  into  Scotland.  That  was  a 
grievous  day  for  us,  and  for  all  who  had  learned  to  know 
and  love  the  Saviour  from  their  teaching.  Many  a 
weeping  eye  followed  those  good  men  as  they  left  Lindis- 
farne,  and,  crossing  the  sands  left  bare  by  the  ebbing 
tide,  bent  their  steps  homeward  to  Scotland,  poor  as  they 
came  ;  bearing  nothing  with  them  but  some  of  Bishop 
Aidan's  bones,  and  the  love  of  all  good  men ;  leaving 
nothing  behind  them  but  their  few  humble  huts  on  the 
island,  and  the  precious  seed  of  God  which  they  had 
sown  in  the  hearts  of  our  people. 

"  Leofric  would  have  willingly  accompanied  them,  as 
did  some  even  of  the  English  monks,  but  Bishop  Colman 
did  not  counsel  this.  At  his  request  (for  King  Oswy 
honoured  him  much),  Eata  was  consecrated  abbot  in  his 
room,  a  meek  and  reverend  man — one  of  the  first  twelve 
English  boys  whom  Bishop  Aidan  had  received  and  in- 
structed in  the  faith  of  Christ. 

"Leofric  therefore  continued  to  labour  among  our 
people  in  Northumbria.  Like  many  of  the  Culdees  or 
priests  from  Iona,  and  most  of  the  secular  priests  even 
among  the  Roman  party,  he  married. 

"  Good  men  were  sent  us  also  from  beyond  the  seas, 
and  among  them  the  zealous  and  learned  Archbishop 
Theodore,  who  was  born  at  Tarsus,  the  city  of  the  Apostle 
Paul,  and  established  schools  of  Latin  and  Greek 
throughout  the  land,  and  did  much  good.  But  to  me 
none  of  these  strangers  could  ever  be  like  good  Bishop 
Aidan  and  the  great  Saxon  Abbess  Hilda. 

"  And  thenceforth  my  husband  and  I  loved  more  and 


1 14  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

more  to  dwell  among  the  quiet  of  these  hills,  away  from 
strife  and  tumult.  And  here  we  built  this  priory  on  the 
border  of  the  lake,  that  whichever  of  us  should  survive 
might  retire  thither  as  to  a  refuge,  to  pass  the  solitary 
evening  of  our  days  in  prayer  and  praise.  For  my  hus- 
band thought  it  good  rather  to  regard  the  monasteries 
as  a  place  of  rest  and  vesper  quiet  when  the  day's  work 
is  done,  than  as  a  retreat  from  the  toil  and  burden  of  the 
day." 

So  spoke  the  Abbess  Frideswide,  our  mother.  And 
two  days  afterwards  the  monk  came  with  the  tidings  of 
the  great  Abbess  Hilda's  death. 

And  not  long  after  this  the  Abbess  Frideswide,  our 
mother,  also  fell  into  sickness.  After  lingering  some 
days,  she  called  all  those  in  the  monastery  around  her 
bed,  and  admonishing  them  to  lead  a  life  devoted  to 
God,  and  full  of  charity  to  each  other,  and  speaking  to 
each  of  us  apart  some  special  word  of  faithful,  motherly 
counsel,  to  which,  weeping,  we  listened,  and  which  we 
never  can  forget,  she  received  the  Eucharist,  and  after 
that  did  not  speak  through  the  night,  so  that  once  we 
who  were  watching  almost  thought  her  spirit  had  fled. 
But  as  we  knelt  beside  her,  waiting  to  receive  her  last 
breath,  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  said,  in  a  voice  faint 
but  quite  distinct, — 

"  How  near  is  it  to  the  hour  when  they  will  arise  to 
chant  the  Prime  ?" 

We  answered, — 

"Not  far  off;  but  there  is  too  much  weeping  in  the 
house  for  many  to  be  able  to  sing." 

Then  she  said,  "  They  sing  to  Christ !  Let  me  hear  his 
praise  again  before  I  go  ;"  and  signing  herself  with  the 


AN  ANGLO-SAXON  FAMILY. 


MS 


sign  of  the  cross,  she  laid  her  head  on  the  pillow,  and 
lay  still  until  the  sweet  sounds  rose  to  us  from  the 
church  of  the  voices  chanting  the  hymn  of  the  Holy 
Hilary  : 

"  Thou  art  the  world's  true  Morning  Star ; 

Not  that  which  o'er  the  edge  of  night, 
Faint  herald  of  a  little  orb, 

Shines  with  a  dim  and  narrow  light. 
Far  brighter  than  the  earthly  sun, 

Thyself  at  once  the  Light  and  Day." 

And  as  she  listened,  she  desired  us  to  raise  hei  so 
that  she  might  look  out  on  the  dawn. 

And  so  her  spirit  passed  away  to  be  associated  with 
the  blessed.  And  "  her  light  came  to  her  at  the  dawn 
of  the  day,"  when  the  sunrise  glowing  over  Borrodale 
lighted  up  Skiddaw  and  Blencathera  with  a  soft  crimson. 

Some  in  our  convent  were  disappointed  that  no  visions 
were  seen  when  she  died,  nor  any  marvels  wrought  at 
her  tomb.  Id  so  many  other  monasteries  glorious  sights 
have  been  vouchsafed,  and  heavenly  sounds  have  been 
heard  : — of  "  a  body,  shining  brighter  than  the  sun, 
drawn  up  to  heaven  in  a  white  sheet  by  cords  brighter 
than  gold  ;"  of  "  celestial  music  floating  up  the  way  the 
soul  is  to  go  f  of  perfumes  of  Paradise  at  the  tomb. 

Doubtless  (except  in  as  far  as  these  marvels  are  only 
bestowed  on  those  who  die  unwedded),  this  is  to  humble 
us,  whose  eyes  and  ears  are  not  worthy  to  be  thus  opened. 

But  as  regards  our  mother,  the  Abbess  Frideswide, 
I  am  content.  It  seems  to  me  more  fitting  to  her  that 
she  should  have  entered  thus  calmly  on  the  other  life,  as 
if  death  were  to  her  but  another  step  in  the  path  God 
was  leading  her  day  by  day ;  caring  to  the  last  for  those 


1 16  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

committed  to  her  charge.  With  open  eyes,  as  it  were, 
she  descended  unshrinking  into  the  cold  waters  of  death, 
and  seemed  scarcely  to  feel  them  ;  for  her  heart  was  to 
the  last  engaged  in  guiding  home  the  flock  who  watched 
her  weeping  from  the  brink,  until  she  turned  her  gaze 
finally  to  Him  who  had  trodden  those  pathless  waves 
before,  and  was  with  her  now. 

To  me  such  a  death,  so  calm  and  fearless,  seems 
nobler  than  that  of  any  of  the  old  heroes  whom  our 
race  honoured  of  old.  They  confronted  death  boldly 
and  defiantly  as  a  foe.  She,  as  a  vanquished  foe,  scarcely 
regarded  him,  but  looked  beyond  him  to  the  redeeming 
"Victor  who  plucked  out  his  sting. 

More  suitable  to  her  memory  than  perfume  of  roses, 
or  visions,  or  any  marvels,  were  those  wise  and  quiet 
words  of  love  and  faith,  the  daily  morning  hymn,  and 
the  common  light  of  dawn  paling  before  her  dying  eyes 
into  the  light  of  the  unveiled  presence  of  Christ  the 
Lord. 


IV. 

Saxon  Schools  and   Homes. 


STORY   OF   THE   LADY   ADELEVE, 

RECORDED    BY    HILDELITH,    THE    NUN. 


I 

>H  < 


IV. 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES. 


STORY  OF  THE  LADY  ADELEVE,  RECORDED  BY  HILDELITH  THE  NUN. 


THE  ABBESS  HILDA'S  MINSTER 


EORWYN  and  I,"  said  Adeleve,  my  mother 
to  me,  "  were  the  daughters  and  only  chil- 
dren of  Alfhelm  and  Ostritha  his  wife  ;  and 
Alf  helm,  our  father,  was  the  son  of  Frides- 
wide  the  abbess. 

"  Our  childhood  was  spent  chiefly  on  our  father's  farm, 
near  the  lake  of  Derwent,  at  the  foot  of  the  castle  crag, 
in  Borrodale.  Deorwyn  was  feeble  in  health,  like  our 
mother,  and  required  tender  nurture.  She  was  also  a 
wise  and  religious  child,  and  delighted  in  nothing  so 
much  as  when,  on  Sundays  and  holy  days,  we  crossed  the 
lake,  and  heard  the  monks  and  nuns  chant  the  praises  of 
God  in  our  grandmother's  minster. 

"I,  on  the  other  hand,  often  enjoyed  the  crossing  the 
lake  more  than  the  sacred  services  ;  especially  when  the 
wind  came  rushing  down  from  Scawfell,  and  tossed  our 

(119) 


1 20  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

• 

boat  on  the  foaming  waves.  For  I  was  strong  and  fear- 
less ;  and  whilst  Deorwyn  desired  only  to  be  a  nun,  I 
regretted  that  I  had  not  been  a  boy,  to  climb  the  hills  in 
the  storms  with  my  father,  to  bring  the  flocks  into  the 
fold,  or  to  scale  the  crags  in  search  of  the  eagles  which 
destroyed  the  lambs.  She  liked  the  calm  evenings  when 
the  light  gleamed  softly  on*  the  lake  and  glowed  a  deep 
rose  on  Skiddaw,  and  the  green  islands  lay  cradled  in 
the  lake,  as  dream-like  and  still  in  the  golden  waters  as 
the  rose  and  lilac  clouds  above  them  in  the  golden  sky. 

"I  liked  to  be  awakened  in  the  night  by  the  great 
winds  rushing  down  from  Scawfell  like  an  army  with 
war-shouts.  While  Deorwyn  nestled  close  to  me  like  a 
frightened  bird,  I  seemed  in  some  way  to  belong  to  the 
mountain^  and  to  feel  them  part  of  me,  and  to  rejoice  in 
their  strength.  I  had  no  more  thought  of  being  afraid 
of  the  winds  and  the  storms  which  came  to  us  from  our 
mountains  than  of  my  father's  voice  when  he  called  an- 
grily in  the  chase. 

"  Our  grandmother,  the  Abbess  Frideswide,  said  that 
I  was  more  like  what  she  had  been,  and  Deorwyn  like 
her  brother  Leofric-- only  that  he  was  a  boy. 

"  In  one  thing  Deorwyn  and  I  both  delighted  equally, 
— namely,  in  our  visit  to  the  holy  Herebert,  who  then 
lived  in  his  cell  on  the  wooded  island  which  bears  his 
name.  We  generally  bore  with  us  some  little  offering 
of  fish  and  fruit,  or  of  bread — the  choicest  of  our  mother's 
baking. 

"  He  ever  welcomed  us  tenderly,  and  told  us  sacred 
stories  from  the  Gospels  and  the  Acts  of  the  saints.  It 
was  a  great  holiday  for  us  when  we  could  persuade  our 
nurse  to  launch  our  little  skiff,  and  with  her  stout  arms 
to  pull  us  to  the  island.     Often  the  saint  would  see  us 


SAXON  SGHO  OLS  AND  HOMES.  1 2 1 

from  the  shore,  and  be  on  a  rock  at  the  edge  to  help  to 
draw  the  boat  to  land,  and  then  lift  us  out  of  it. 

"  Sometimes,  however,  we  heard  his  voice  from  afar, 
rising  in  a  sacred  chant  j  and  then  our  nurse  would  not 
suffer  us  to  land,  but  would  row  us  slowly  round  the 
island,  and  take  us  back  again. 

"In  our  nurse's  stories  Dcorwyn  had  not  nearly  as 
much  delight  as  I  had.  These  were  chiefly  of  the  old 
gods  and  heroes ;  of  Loki  the  Black-hearted,  who  slew 
Balder  the  Beautiful,  for  whom  every  living  being  wept 
— even  earth,  and  trees,  and  stones — so  that  the  heart 
of  Hela,  the  death  goddess,  was  all  but  moved  to  let  him 
go  from  her  dark  dwellings ;  of  Thor  the  Thunderer, 
who  fought  with  the  earth  giants  ;  of  Adumbla,  the  sacred 
cow,  who  licked  the  salt-rocks  into  the  shape  of  Bor,  the 
father  of  Odin ;"  of  the  frost  world,  the  fire  world,  and 
the  cloud  world,  and  their  inhabitants ;  of  the  wolf  Fenris, 
which  pursued  the  sun  goddess  and  the  moon  god.  To 
me  these  stories  were  all  the  more  enchanting  because 
there  was  a  delightful  uncertainty  about  them,  through 
which  they  loomed  like  Skiddaw  through  the  morning 
mists.  I  was  not  at  all  sure  how  far  these  things  were 
fables  and  how  far  they  were  true,  and  had  often  a  vague 
thrill  of  mingled  hope  and  fear — wondering  whether  the 
sudden  thunder-claps  which  burst  among  the  hills  in 
spring  might  not  be  the  strokes  of  Thor's  hammer,  or  the 
golden  clouds  at  morning  the  glitter  of  the  golden  walls 
of  Asgard  in  the  far  east.  I  knew,  indeed,  that  all  power 
to  hurt  was  taken  away  from  the  old  gods  ;  but  our  nurse 
was  not  at  all  sure,  nor  was  I,  how  far  they  might  be 
still  lingering  around  their  old  worshippers  of  our  race, 
to  display  their  giant  power  in  freaks  of  strength,  or  to 
show  their  good-will  in  friendly  gifts. 
G 


1 22  THE  EARLY  DA  WK 

"  Deorwyn  felt  otherwise.  She  thought  the  old  gods 
and  heroes  fierce  and  cruel  sprites,  and  never  liked  to 
hear  their  names. 

"  So  our  childhood  passed  until  our  father  was  killed 
in  a  fight  with  a  British  prince,  near  Chester  ;  and  our 
mother  soon  after  died  of  grief.  Then  Deorwyn  was 
taken  into  the  minster  of  our  grandmother  Frideswkle, 
to  devote  her  life  to  God  •  and  I  was  sent  to  the  abbey 
of  the  great  Abbess  Hilda,  at  Whitby,  to  learn  all  learn- 
ing and  accomplishments  befitting  a  maiden  of  noble 
birth,  and  to  be  sheltered  until  my  marriage  with  my 
cousin  Osric — the  son  of  Leofric,  our  grandmother  Frides- 
wide's  brother — to  whom  I  had  been  betrothed  in  infancy. 

"  The  Abbess  Hilda's  monastery  was  no  seclusion.  It 
was  the  very  centre'  and  spring  of  the  good  which  was 
done  in  the  land.  It  was  a  school  for-  the  young,  a  col- 
lege of  clergymen,  and  especially  of  missionary  clergy- 
men, and  a  refuge  for  the  oppressed  and  the  aged.  Whilst 
the  kings  and  nobles  were  continually  journeying  from 
one  estate  to  another  to  receive  their  rents,  their  sons 
and  daughters  could  be  educated  in  the  abbey,  free  from 
all  the  dangers  and  unsettledness  of  this  wandering  life. 

"The  minster  (monastery)  formed  quite  a  town  in 
itself  clustered  around  the  church,  which  was  built  after 
the  Scotch  method  with  wood,  and  was  roofed  with  thatch, 
and  had  slits  for  windows,  which  were  made  very  narrow, 
and  with  deep  sides  sloping  outward,  that  the  rain  and 
snow  might  not  beat  in  on  the  worshippers. 

"  It  was,  however,  the  most  beautiful  building  I  had 
then  seen  ;  and  on  the.  altar,  covered  with  its  fair  white 
cloth,  lay  a  wondrously  costly  copy  of  the  Gospels  in 
Latin,  with  a  large  sapphire  set  in  the  golden  cover. 

"  The  dwellings  appropriated  for  the  sisters  were  for 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  H0M3S. 


123 


the  most  part  scattered  wooden  buildings  —  some  for 
dormitories,  some  for  schools,  and  one  for  the  refectory. 
The  brothers  had  their  little  village  apart  from  ours. 
In  the  church  also  we  sat  in  separate  parts,  although  our 
voices  blended  in  the  praises  of  God. 

"  There  were  also  guest  chambers  for  the  many  noble 
and  royal  visitors  who  came  to  see  our  mother  the  abbess  ; 
and  there  was  a  house  of  refuge  for  the  aged,  and  another 
for  poor  wayfarers. 

"  These  buildings  stood  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  looking 
far  over  the  sea.  Down  the  green  and  wooded  slopes 
rose  many  huts  of  the  mechanics  and  farm-labourers  who 
worked  on  the  abbey  lands  ;  and  below,  on  the  banks  of 
the  river,  was  the  fishing  village,  inhabited  by  the  many 
fishermen  who  supplied  the  community  with  fish.  We 
were  all  employed  to  the  full.  The  Abbess  Hilda  suffered 
no  drones  in  her  hive. 

"With  the  first  break  of  day  in  summer,  and  before  it 
in  winter,  we  were  all  aroused  by  the  convent  bell.  Then 
most  of  the  brothers  and  sisters  assembled  in  the  church 
at  the  cock-crowing,  and  chanted,  such  of  us  as  knew 
Latin,  the  hymn,  Eterne  rerum  Conditor  —  'Eternal 
Maker  of  all  things/ 

"  I  remember  to  this  day  how  beautiful  it  was,  as  we 
left  the  church,'  to  watch  the  dawn  breaking  slowly  from 
grey  to  gold  over  the  eastern  sea.  At  matins,  three 
hours  later,  we  assembled  again,  and  sang  the  praises  of 
Him  who  is  '  the  brightness  of  the  Father's  glory.'  And 
to  this  day  those  hours  seem  to  come  back  to  me  musical 
witli  God's  praise.  For  the  many  who  cannot  read,  I 
think  it  is  a  most  worthy  custom  thus  to  make  the  very 
hours  of  the  day  so  many  pages  of  a  sacred  hymnal,  which 
memory  illuminates  with  her  fairest  colours. 


1 24  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WK 

"  Much  of  the  day  was  spent  by  us,  the  young  maidens, 
in  the  school,  learning  to  read  Anglo-Saxon  gospels  and 
hymns,  to  spin  and  weave,  and  to  embroider. 

"  Arithmetic  was  not  taught  us,  although  some  of  our 
number  learned  to  read  Latin,  and  a  few  also  to  write. 

"  We  were  always  much  astonished  at  the  learning  of 
the  boys,  when  the  bishop,  or  a  learned  priest,  came 
round  and  examined  them,  and  they  solved  arithmetical 
problems  with  what  seemed  to  us  the  most  magical  skill, 
such  as  this, — 

"  An  old  man  met  a  child.  '  Good  day,  my  son,'  he 
said  ;  '  may  you  live  as  long  as  you  have  lived,  and  as 
much  more,  and  thrice  as  much  as  all  this,  and  if  God 
give  you  one  year  in  addition  to  the  others,  you  will  be 
a  century  old  :  what  was  the  lad's  age  ?'  And  the  lads 
actually  answered  it,  so  the  learned  priests  said. 

"  My  old  longing  to  have  been  a  boy  came  back  to  me 
when  I  heard  §uch  wonders,  and  more  especially  when  I 
heard  them  discourse  concerning  the  firmament,  with  all 
the  stars  revolving  round  us,  and  the  earth  in  the  centre 
shaped  like  a  pine  nut,  with  the  fountains  and  rivers 
running  through  it  like  the  veins  through  a  man's  body. 
Most  especially,  however,  did  I  envy  them  when  the 
young  nobles  among  them  swept  by  to  the  chase,  on  foot 
or  on  horseback,  to  follow  the  harriers  over  the  hills,  or 
to  hunt  the  wild  boars. 

"  After  that  I  turned  with  some  discontent  to  my  dis- 
taff in  the  narrow  chamber,  or  to  the  recipes  against  the 
bites  of  adders,  or  against  burns  and  scalds,  so  many  of 
which  we  had  to  learn  by  heart.  Often,  however,  the 
nun  who  instructed  us  would  relate  histories  of  the  mar- 
vels wrought  by  the  faithful  in  their  lives  and  deaths  ; 
especially  of  the  holy  bishops  Aidan  and  Chad ;  of  Fursey, 


8 AXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES.  125 

the  holy  Irish  anchorite,  who  preached  the  faith  in  Lind- 
sey  (Lincoln)  and  among  the  East  Angles,  and  was  vouch- 
safed such  wondrous  visions  of  the  other  world  ;  of 
Cuthbert,  bishop  of  Lindisfarne,  the  great  friend  of 
Herebert,  the  anchorite  of  Derwent-water,  so  dear  to 
Deorwyn  and  me. 

"  She  told  us  also  of  Hii,  or  Iona,  the  holy  island  of  the 
western  seas,  which  was  the  mother  church  of  almost  all 
our  English  churches  north  of  the  Thames ;  of  the  per- 
petual prayer  and  praise  that  went  up  from  its  humble 
cells  and  churches  ;  its  grassy  heights  and  wave-washed 
rocks  to  God  ;  and  how  one  after  another  issued  thence 
to  proclaim  the  redemption  of  mankind  through  every 
village,  and  lonely  hamlet,  and  busy  town,  throughout 
this  land  of  ours. 

"  To  me,  as  we  listened,  that  lonely  island  seemed  as 
holy  as  Rome,  or  Jerusalem  itself,  and  more  like  heaven ; 
since  at  Rome  we  heard  there  were  great- sinners  as  well 
as  great  saints  ;  and  Jerusalem  being  now  dumb  in  the 
hands  of  the  heathen,  living  prayer  and  praise  must 
surely,  I  thought,  be  more  heavenly  and  dear  to  God 
than  any  graves. 

"  This  nun  had  also  marvellous  histories  which  she  used 
to  tell  us  as  it  grew  dusk,  about  the  deaths  of  many  holy 
men  and  women  ;  how  when  Bishop  Chad  was  reading 
the  Holy  Scriptures  and  praying  in  the  oratory  of  his 
monastery,  he  heard  suddenly  the  voice  of  many  persons 
singing  most  sweetly  and  rejoicing,  and  appearing  to 
descend  from  heaven,  from  the  southeast  (where  the 
throne  of  Christ  is),  until  it  drew  near  the  roof  of  the 
orattf  ry,  and  filled  it ;  and  then,  after  listening  half  an 
hour,  he  perceived  the  same  song  of  joy  ascend  and  re- 
turn to  heaven  the  way  it  came,  with  inexpressible  sweet- 


l  z6  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WK 

ness.  After  which,  having  assembled  the  seven  brothers 
of  the  house,  and  bidden  them  farewell  with  fatherly 
counsel,  in  seven  days  he  went  to  heaven  the  way  the 
music  came.  She  told  us  also  of  the  young  boy  Esica, 
who  was  brought  up  among  the  nuns,  and  falling  sick, 
called  three  times  as  he  died, '  Eadgith  !  Eadgith  !  Ead- 
gith!' which  summons  that  holy  virgin,  though  absent, 
obeyed  at  once,  being  seized  the  same  day  with  the  same 
distemper,  and  'following  the  child  into  the  heavenly 
country  whither  he  called  her' before  the  sun  had  set. 
And  of  another  dying  nun,  who  entreated  those  who 
were  watching  round  her  bed  to  put  out  the  candle, 
1  for  I  tell  you/  said  she, '  that  I  see  this  house  filled  with 
sc  much  light,  that  your  candle  there  seems  to  me  to  be 
dark/  And  as  they  still  hesitated  to  extinguish  it,  she 
added, '  Let  it  burn  ;  but  take  notice  that  it  is  not  my 
light,  for  my  light  will  come  to  me  at  the  dawn  of  the 
day/ — which  was  fulfilled,  for  then  she  died. 

"  I  liked  better,  however,  the  stories  of  what  the  saints 
did  in  their  lives ; — how  once  Bishop  Aidan,  from  his 
solitary  retreat  in  the  rocky  islet  of  Fame,  saw  the 
flames  encompassing  the  city  of  Bamborough,  from  the 
great  pile  of  planks,  wattles,  and  thatch,  which  the 
heathen  Penda,  king  of  the  Mercians,  had  kindled  ;  and 
lifting  up  his  hands  and  eyes  to  heaven,  he  said  '  Behold, 
Lord,  liow  great  mischief  Penda  does  /'  which  words  were 
hardly  uttered  when  the  wind  changed,  and  turned  back 
the  flames  from  the  city  on  those  who  kindled  them  ; — 
how  Bishop  Cuthbert  scaled  the  robbers'  nests,  and 
preaching  the  glad  tidings  to  the  outcast,  won  them  to 
the  fold  of  Christ ; — how  Bishop  Chad,  when  storms  of 
wind  or  thunder  and  lightning  came,  would  immediately 
call  on  God  to  have  mercy  on  him  and  all  mankind  ;  and 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES.  127 

if  it  lasted,  would  repair  to  the  church,  and  watch  through 
the  tempest,  praying  and  repeating  psalms  until  the  calm 
was  restored ;  <  for/  said  he,  *  the  Lord  thunders  in  the 
heavens,  moves  the  air,  darts  lightning,  to  excite  the  in- 
habitants of  earth  to  fear  him,  to  dispel  their  pride  by 
reminding  them  of  that  dreadful  time  when  the  heavens 
and  the  earth  being  in  a  flame,  He  will  come  in  the 
clouds  with  great  power  and  majesty,  to  judge  the  quick 
and  dead.  Wherefore  we  should  answer  his  heavenly 
admonition  with  fear  and  love  ;  that  as  often  as  he  lifts 
his  hands  through  the  trembling  sky,  yet  does  not  strike, 
we  may  implore  his  mercy,  and  searching  the  recesses 
of  our  hearts,  cleanse  them  from  the  pollution  of  our 
sins.'  It  was  good  also  to  hear  of  Oswald,  the  king, 
meekly  sitting  at  the  feet  of  Bishop  Aidan,  to  interpret 
his  words  to  the  ignorant  people  ;  or  of  Owini,  the  cour- 
tier, quitting  the  world  for  the  convent,  with  the  axe  and 
hatchet  on  his  shoulder,  that '  not  being  capable  of  pro- 
longed meditation,  he  might  yet  use  such  gifts  as  he  had, 
and  labour  with  his  hands  for  God.' 

"These  things  interested  me  always  more  than  the 
visions  at  death-beds  or  the  miracles  at  the  tombs,  be- 
cause if  it  pleases  God  to  pour  a  flood  of  light  into  our 
chamber  when  we  die,  or  to  make  our  coffins  diffuse  per- 
fume like  the  richest  balsams,  it  may  be  very  edifying 
and  sweet  to  those  who  survive  us  ;  but  I  do  not  see  how 
we  can  do  anything  to  bring  it  about.  Whereas  when  I 
heard  of  Aidan  simply  commending  the  sorrows  of  others 
to  God,  and  being  heard,  I  used  to  think  I  might  try  to  do 
the  same.  Often  through  life  that  strong,  quiet  prayer 
of  his,  has  encouraged  me  to  pray,  as,  beside  the  bed-side 
of  my  sick  children  or  near  the  battle-field  where  my 
husband  fought,  I  have  knelt  and  said  with  weeping 


128  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

eyes,  'Behold,  Lord,  this  my  sorrow  P  and  felt  that  was 
enough. 

"  Often  also  in  the  storms  at  sea  or  on  land  I  have  re- 
membered Bishop  Chad,  and  bowing  at  the  voice  of  God, 
have  prayed,  not  only  for  myself,  but  for  all  men  in  need 
and  peril,  and  have  found  that  the  prayer  for  others 
wonderfully  quieted  my  heart  as  to  my  own  danger. 

"  And  all  through  life  the  good  Owini,  with  his  axe 
and  hatchet,  has  seemed  to  walk  before  me,  who  have  so 
little  faculty  for  contemplation,  saying,  *  There  are  gifts 
for  each,  and  there  is  a  path  for  each  to  heaven.' 

"  Again  and  again  from  lonely,  perilous  moors  and  dens 
of  robbers,  the  voice  of  Bishop  Cuthbert  has  seemed  to  call 
on  me  to  labour  for  the  lost,  to  bring  them  into  the  fold. 

"  Dearer  than  any  of  these  worthy  names  to  me,  how- 
ever, is  that  of  our  mother,  the  Abbess  Hilda,  true  mother 
to  me  the  motherless  girl ;  patient  counsellor,  and  never- 
failing  friend.  It  was  she,  above  all  others,  who  taught 
us  to  revere  the  holy  men  from  Iona — to  mourn  the  day 
when,  after  the  great  synod  held  at  her  abbey,  when  the 
King  Oswy  decided  for  the  Romans,  good  Bishop  Col- 
man  left  the  cradle  of  so  many  churches,  the  lowly  but 
most  glorious  monastery  of  Lindisfarne,  and  departed 
northward.  She  had  contended  earnestly  for  the  Scots — 
not,  I  think,  that  she  deemed  it  of  much  moment  whether 
the  monks  were  shaven  wholly,  according  to  the  Scotch 
and  Oriental  method,  or  coronal-wise  like  the  Romans, 
in  imitation  of  the  crown  of  thorns  ;  but  the  free  Saxon 
lady,  daughter  of  Odin,  and  of  the  kindred  of  kings,  did 
not  easily  brook  that  Italian  priests  should  lord  it  over 
our  free  Saxon  Church,  or  that  the  party  who  fled  with 
Paulinus  from  the  storm  should  return  when  the  storm 
had  passed,  to  reap  what  they  had  not  sown. 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES. 


129 


"Much  debate  about  these  matters  I  heard  in  my 
youth,  and  much  I  wondered  that  these  good  Scots  should 
thus  be  humbled  ;  but  since  our  Lord  says, '  He  that  is 
chief  among  us  is  he  that  serveth,'  I  in  my  old  age  have 
learned  to  think  that  the  Scotch  monks  have  done  well 
not  to  part  with  their  Christ-like  crowns  of  service  and 
lowliness  for  the  Latin  crowns  of  exaltation  and  rule,  and 
the  Roman  palls. 

"  There  was  little  monotony  at  the  minster.  The  pres- 
ence of  the  warm  heart  and  clear  mind  of  the  abbess  was 
felt  everywhere.  Caedmon,  the  Christian  poet,  was  one 
of  the  Abbess  Hilda's  monks.  The  elder  nuns  used  to 
tell  us  how  one  night,  when  the  harp  was  passed  round 
to  him  at  the  feast,  he  knew  no  song  to  sing,  whereupon, 
rising,  he  left  the  table,  and  went  to  the  stable  to  feed 
the  horses  under  his  charge.  There  he  composed  him- 
self to  sleep,  when  in  a  dream  one  appeared  to  him  and 
said,  '  Caedmon,  sing  some  song  to  me.'  He  answered, 
'I  cannot  sing,  and  for  that  reason  retired  from  the 
feast.'  Then  said  the  voice,  'Nevertheless,  you  shall 
sing.'  '  What  shall  I  sing  ?'  he  rejoined.  !  Sing  the  be- 
ginning of  created  things,'  said  the  voice.  Then  in  his 
dream  he  began  to  sing,  in  words  he  had  never  heard 
before,  the  praises  of  the  Creator,  the  deeds  of  the  Father 
of  glory.  Awaking,  the  songs  he  had  sung  in  his  dream 
rang  through  his  heart ;  and  others,  hearing  of  his  gift, 
led  him  to  our  Abbess  Hilda,  to  whom,  in  the  presence 
of  many  learned  men,  he  told  his  dream  and  repeated  his 
verses. 

"  They  all  concluded  that  heavenly  grace  had  been 
conferred  on  him  by  our  Lord,  whereupon  the  abbess, 
embracing  the  grace  of*  God  in  the  man,  instructed  him 
to  quit  the  secular  habit  and  enter  the  monastery.     And 


130 


THE  EARLY  DAWK 


there  he  lived  thenceforth,  meekly  listening  to  the  sacred 
stories  of  Holy  Writ  from  the  lips  of  the  learned — for  he 
could  not  read — and  then  singing  the  same  for  his  people 
in  Saxon  verse. 

"To  Caedmon,  the  herdsman  poet,  we  delighted  to 
listen,  gathering  around  him,  in  the  great  minster-hall 
on  winter  evenings,  or  on  summer  evenings  on  the  cliff 
above  the  sea,  while  the  quiet  waves  rippled  faintly  far 
below,  as  he  sang  to  his  harp,  in  our  own  mother- tongue, 
of  the  fall  of  angels  in  the  far-off  ages  :  of  the  birth  of 
the  world,  and  then  of  the  birth  of  the  Holy  Child  at 
Bethlehem  :  of  his  agony  for  us  in  the  garden  and  on  the 
cross :  of  his  glorious  rising  and  soaring  into  heaven : 
and  of  the  Holy  Ghost  the  Comforter,  whom  Christ  sends 
to  us,  that  we  may  not  be  orphans  though  bereaved  of 
the  sight  of  him.  Heart-stirring  it  was  to  listen  how,  in 
the  beginning, — 


*  The  children  of  glory, 
The  hosts  of  angels, 
The  glorious  thanes, 
Feeding  on  bliss, 


4  Knowing  not  sin, 
Praised  the  King, 
Willingly  praised  the  Lord  of 
Life.' 


"  How  then, — 


4  When  there  was  nothing 
But  cavernous  gloom, 
And  the  wide  ground 
Lay  deep  and  dim, 
And  the  dark  clouds 
Perpetually  pressed 
Black  under  the  sky, 
Void  and  waste, 
The  eternal  Lord 
Reared  the  sky. 
When  the  earth  was  then 


Not  green  with  grass ; 

Covered  with  the  ocean, 

Ever  black, 

Far  and  wide, 

The  desert  ways, 

The  Creator  of  angels, 

The  Lord  of  life, 

Parted  life  from  darkness, 

SJiade  from  shine. 

But  he,  once  made  fairest  of  all. 

Highest  of  angels, 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES. 


131 


Like  the  brilliant  stars, 

He  who  should  have  thanked 

his  Lord 
For  the  brightness  he  shared, 
Began  to  be  over-proud, 
And  would  not  serve  God, 
But  said  he  was  his  equal 
In  light  and  shining ; 
And  thus  spoke  to  himself: — 

"  And  how  then, — 

'  He  who  had  been  made  so  fair, 
Of  angels  most  shining 
Fell  out  of  heaven, 
During  the  space 
Of  three  nights  and  days, 
Into  black  hell, 
And  the  angels  who  followed 

him, 
And  became  devils. 
There  have  they  for  ever 
Fire,  ever  renewed, 
The  east  wind, 
The  cold  frost, 
Mingling  with  the  fires. 
And  seek  they  other  land, 
All  is  void  of  light 
And  full  of  fire, 
A  great  journey  of  fire. 
While    he  who  has  been  the 

whitest  in  heaven, 
By  his  Master  beloved, 
Said  with  sorrowing  speech, 
"  Is  this  the  narrow  place, 


"  I  cannot  have 

Any  creature  above  me. 

Why  should  I 

Sue  for  his  grace  ? 

Or  bend  to  Him 

With  any  obedience  ? 

I  may  be 

A  God  as  he  is." ' 


Unlike  what  erst  we  knew, 

That  my  Master  sets  me  in  ? 

Knots  of  chains  press  me  down. 

Hell's  fetters 

Hold  me  hard, 

This  fire  never  languishes ; 

Biting  manacles 

Arrest  my  course, 

My  army  is  taken  from  me, 

My  feet  are  bound, 

My  hands  imprisoned, 

I  am  kingdomless ! 

Yet  is  it  ever  to  me  the  bitterest 

sorrow 
That  Adam,  the  earth-made, 
Possesses  my  mighty  throne ; 
That  he  is  to  be  happy, 
While  we  suffer  misery  in  hell ; 
That  from  him  once  more 
God  will  people 
The  kingdom  of  heaven 
With  pure  souls." ' 


"  Often,  through  the  night,  after  we  had  listened  to 
our  herdsman  poet,  those  wild  laments,  or  those  songs 


132 


THE  EARLY  DAWN. 


of  joy  and  praise,  lingered  through  my  heart,  mingling 
with  the  breaking  of  the  waves  on  the  rocky  shore. 

"  Happy  the  poet  who  learned  the  art  of  poetry  not 
from  man,  but  God ;  whose  heart  was  never  tuned  to 
any  but  sacred  songs ;  who  sang  the  truth  of  God  into 
the  hearts  of  so  many  of  his  people ! 

"  Often,  also,  we  had  guests  of  noble  or  royal  birth, 
pilgrims  from  Rome  or  Jerusalem. 
,  "  But  more  encircled  with  wonder  to  me  than  any  of 
our  guests,  was  Archbishop  Theodore  of  Tarsus.  He  was 
an  old  man  when  first  I  saw  him.  Greek,  the  language 
in  which  St.  John  wrote,  and  St.  Paul,  and  St.  Peter, 
was  his  mother  tongue.  He  had  lisped  in  the  very  words 
of  the  original  New  Testament.  In  his  childhood  and 
in  his  youth  he  had  studied  in  the  very  city  where  the 
Apostle  Paul  was  born. 

"  Our  England  owned  her  first  Greek,  and  many  of 
her  first  Latin  schools,  to  a  fellow-citizen  of  St.  Paul 
himself. 

"  As  I  looked  at  his  white  hair,  contrasting  so  beauti- 
fully with  his  dark,  keen  eye,  and  as  he  spoke  to  us  of 
apostles  and  evangelists,  around  him  they  seemed  to  rise 
no  longer  pictures  and  shadows,  but  living  men  of  our 
flesh  and  blood. 

"Bishop  Wilfrid  of  York  also  occasionally  came  to 
our  monastery,  not  on  foot,  in  humble  guise,  like  the 
Scotch  bishops,  assisted  by  two  or  three  humble  mission- 
ary priests,  who  spent  their  time  in  reading  or  tran- 
scribing the  Scriptures,  in  preaching  and  in  praising  God  ; 
but  followed  royally  by  a  train  of  horsemen,  clad  in  rich 
array.  Wonders  were  told  us  of  the  church  at  Ripon, 
which  he  had  lately  built,  after  the  Roman  model,  with 
lofty  walls  and  countless  arches,  foundations  like  those 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES. 


»33 


of  the  everlasting  hills ;  adorned  with  gorgeous  paint- 
ings, and  costly  plate  and  books,  and  with  the  windows 
paned  with  pure,  transparent  glass.  He  himself  had 
marvellous  tales  to  tell  of  the  splendours  of  Rome,  which 
he  had  visited  often.  But  more  than  of  all  this  mag- 
nificence, I  liked  to  hear  what  he  had  done  among  the 
wild  heathens  of  Friesland  (as  afterwards  among  those 
of  Sussex)  when  shipwrecked  on  their  coast ;  how  he 
had  taught  them  at  once  how  to  worship  Christ  the  Lord, 
and  how  to  keep  off  famine  by  a  better  mode  of  fishing, 
so  that  the  simple  people- honoured  him  as  one  sent  ex- 
press from  heaven. 

"  Visits  such  as  these  were  our  great  festivals.  But 
every  Sunday  it  was  a  festive  sight  to  see  the  people 
flocking  to  the  church  of  our  monastery  on  the  cliff; 
from  the  fishing-hamlet  by  the  river,  from  the  cottages 
on  the  hill-side,  from  villages  miles  away,  the  labourer, 
that  day  free  from  labour,  the  thrall,  that  day  free  from 
thraldom ;  thrall  and  thane,  clerk  and  warrior,  prince's 
son  from  the  school,  peasant's  son  from  the  country, 
meeting  under  one  roof  to  hear  and  sing  the  praises  of 
one  redeeming  Lord.  Some  of  the  service  was  chanted 
by  the  choristers  in  Latin,  and  to  this  the  unlearned 
seemed  to  listen  as  to  strains  of  dim  but  heavenly  music. 
But  the  Lord's  Prayer  and  the  Creed  all  the  people 
repeated  in  our  Saxon  tongue,  and  many  joined  in  the 
Saxon  hymns  and  the  Te  Deum.  The  Abbess  Hilda 
also  always  had  the  holy  Gospels  read  and  explained  in 
our  mother-tongue,  so  that  each  might  depart  to  his 
home  with  some  new  light  kindled  in  his  heart  and  un- 
derstanding. 

"  Great  was  the  joy  of  Easter  at  the  Abbess  Hilda's 
abbey.     Then  the  new  converts  won  during  the  year 


134 


THE  EARLY  DAWN. 


from  the  heathenism  which  still  lingered  in  the  recesses 
of  the  land,  were  baptized  in  the  river  below  the  hill, 
and,  clothed  in  their  spotless  baptismal  robes,  joined  for 
the  first  time  in  the  services  of  the  church. 

"  And  frequently  another  rejoicing  .  company  were 
gathered  in  the  church  on  -that  day.  The  slaves,  re- 
deemed from  the  hard  and  unjust  bondage  by  the  alms 
which  Bishop  Aidan  and  his  disciples  delighted  to  devote 
to  that  purpose,  were  assembled  at  the  altar  at  Easter, 
and  there  solemnly  set  free ;  that  evermore  they  might 
thank  one  ransoming  Lord  for  liberation  both  from  tem- 
poral and  spiritual  bondage.  Then,  indeed,  was  heard 
at  once  the  voice  of  weeping  and  rejoicing — mothers 
sobbing  for  joy  to  win  back  their  captured  children  ;  the 
sons  of  freemen  thanking  God,  with  trembling  voices, 
that  once  more  they  and  their  sons  were  free. 

"  One  Easter,  I  remember,  our  alms  were  desired  to 
ransom  some  Christians  who  had  been  taken  captive  by 
the  heathen  Saxons  in  Old  Saxony,  the  land  from  which 
our  forefathers  came.  The  priest  who  thus  sought  our 
aid  had  himself  escaped  from  the  same  captivity ;  and 
terrible  were  the  tales  he  told  us  of  those  our  heathen 
kinsmen, — of  their  fierce  forays  on  each  other  and  on 
their  neighbours ;  of  the  cruel  religion  which  glorified 
such  slaughter ;  of  the  shrieks  echoing  at  midnight 
through  the  black  forests,  where  they  sacrificed  human 
victims  to  their  cruel  gods.  Then  I  learned  what  Thor 
and  Odin  were  in  their  power,  and  I  grew  to  hate  their 
names  as  much  as  my  gentle  sister  Deorwyn.  Yet,  more 
than  ever  did  these  tales  make  me  wish  I  had  been  a  boy, 
that  I  might  go  and  tell  these  cruel  slaves  of  false  spirits 
by  what  a  lie  they  were  held  in  thraldom.  Death  on 
such  an   errand   seemed  to   m"   nobler  than  even   my 


SAXON  SCHO  OLS  AND  HOMES.  1 3  5 

father's  death  for  his  people  on  the  battle-field.  Often, 
also,  my  spirit  chafed  against  my  father's  destination  of 
me  to  the  cares  of  married  life,  instead  of  what  seemed 
to  me  the  far  loftier  calling  of  a  consecrated  nun.  But 
since  this  could  not  be  otherwise,  I  resolved  that  if  ever 
I  had  sons  of  my  own  I  would  train  them,  and  pray  our 
Lord  to  train  them,  for  such  work  as  this.  Such  pur- 
poses the  Abbess  Hilda  by  God's  grace,  inspired  in  num- 
berless hearts  besides  mine.  From  her  schools  and  her 
congregations  went  forth  Christian  nobles  and  ladies, 
Christian  poets  and  clerks,  anchorites,  bishops,  mission- 
aries, and  martyrs.  Thus  the  abbey  of  Whitby,  like, 
that  of  Lindisfarne,  was  no  quiet  pool,  gathering  into 
itself  the  lives  of  holy  men  and  women,  to  rest  still  and 
peaceful  in  this  quiet  shade  ;  but  a  fountain-head  of  no- 
blest enterprise,  and  of  wide-spread  blessings  throughout 
the  land. 

THE   ORDEAL. 

f  I  ^HE  time  drew  near  for  me  to  quit  the  Abbess 
A  Hilda's  minster,  on  my  marriage,  according  to 
my  father's  will,  with  Osric,  the  young  Thane. 

"  The  day  was  fixed  for  our  wedding,  the  morgen  gift 
which  he  was  to  bestow  on  me  on  the  day  after  olt 
marriage  had  been  arranged  and  set  down  in  writing, 
when  a  great  difficulty  arose. 

"A  monk,  whose  severity  had  made  him  unpopular 
with  the  boys,  was  found  one  morning  in  a  meadow, 
wounded  and  sorely  beaten.  Suspicion  fell  on  Osric  and 
on  a  lad  named  Edwy,  who  alone  had  been  seen  on  the 
previous  night  walking  near  the  spot  where  the  wounded 
monk  was  found. 


1 36  .  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

"  The  poor  monk  could  remember  nothing  but  that  a 
figure  draped  in  black,  whom  h$  took  to  be  a  demon,  had 
knocked  him  down  from  behind,  and,  after  belabouring 
him  with  a  club,  without  uttering  a  syllable  in  answer  to 
his  cries,  had  fled  at  the  approach  of  footsteps. 

"  Both  Edwy  and  Osric  denied  the  accusation  on 
oath.  Before  the  congregation  both  stood  up  and  swore 
solemnly, — 

"  f  In  the  Lord,  I  am  innocent  of  the  charge  whereof 
they  accuse  me.' 

"  Edwy's  voice  was  bold  and  rapid,  and  his  look  defiant. 
Osric's  tones  were  low  and  clear,  deliberate  and  steady  ; 
and  the  look  of  his  honest  eyes  frank  and  open  as  usual, 
neither  shrinking  from,  nor  courting  any  one's  gaze. 

"  It  was  ruled  that  the  matter  should  be  tried  by  the 
ordeal  of  hot  iron,  in  the  church. 

"  On  the  day  appointed,  prayer  was  made  throughout 
the  monastery  that  God  would  defend  the  right.  Then 
the  fire  was  lighted  in  the  church,  and  the  priest,  accom- 
panied only  by  the  two  accused,  went  in  to  see  that  the 
irons  were  duly  heated.  Meantime,  many  of  the  com- 
munity waited  without,  until  we  were  summoned  inside 
to  witness  the  ordeal.  The  Abbess  Hilda  went  first, 
bearing  a  silver  cross,  and  followed  by  the  professed 
nuns,  and  the  young  maidens  of  the  schools.  When  we 
had  ranged  ourselves  on  one  side  of  the  church,  the 
monks  and  youths  entered  and  stood  in  a  line  opposite 
to  us.  Between  us  glowed  the  fire  in  a  large  brazier,  its 
dull  red  glare  reflected  on  the  faces  of  the  accused  and 
the  priest. 

"  All  of  us  had  spent  the  day  fasting,  as  also  the  accused. 

"  Both  repeated  the  collects  imploring  the  Judge  of  all 
to  make  the  truth  clear. 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES.  1 37 

*  To  me  it  was  as  clear  as  daylight  already.  The  bold, 
defiant  stare  had  passed  from  Edwy's  face,  and  although 
his  eyes  m  andered  around  the  church,  their  unsteady  gaze 
rested  on  no  one.  He  stood  rigidly  erect ;  but  his  hands 
nervously  clutched  his  sword. 

"  Osric  stood  with  head  slightly  bent  during  the 
prayer — pale,  and  with  compressed  lips ;  but  when  the 
last  word  of  the  collect  ceased  he  looked  up,  a  flush  of 
joyous  resolution  lighted  up  his  cheek,  he  glanced  at  the 
Abbess  Hilda,  and  then  at  me,  and  his  eye3  smiled  trust- 
fully into  mine. 

"  Before  that  I  had  almost  feared  to  look  j  but  from  that 
moment  I  feared  no  more. 

"When  the  prayer  had  ceased,  the  priest  sprinkled 
both  the  accused  with  holy  water,  and  also  moistened 
their  lips  with  it.  Each  kissed  the  book  of  the  holy 
Gospels,  and  was  signed  with  the  cross.  All  this  time 
the  irons  were  lying  upon  the  burning  coals.  Then  one 
of  the  pieces  was  laid,  red-hot,  on  Osric's  hands.  His 
lips  were  slightly  compressed,  but  unshrinkingly  he  car- 
ried the  burning  mass  the  nine  prescribed  feet,  from  the 
fire  to  the  stake,  and  there  dropped  it.  A  murmur  of 
sympathy  and  admiration  ran  through  the  church.  The 
priest  bound  up  his  hands,  and  sealed  them — to  be  opened 
on  the  third  day  and  examined,  to  see  whether  they  were 
healing  soundly  or  not. 

"  After  that  the  priest  raised  the  other  iron  with  pin- 
cers, and  slowly  prepared  to  place  it  in  Edwy's  hands. 
But  those  slow  moments  overcame  the  last  remnants  of 
his  false  courage ;  and,  falling  on  his  knees,  before  the 
iron  had  touched  him,  he  confessed,  before  the  whole  con- 
gregation, his  base  and  cowardly  crime. 

"Then    the  guilty  was    led  away   ignominiously   to 


1 38  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

endure  his  punishment,  and  all  the  congregation  pressed 
around  Osric  and  did  him  honour ;  but  to  me,  his  be- 
trothed, it  was  permitted  to  dress  his  scarred  hands. 
Thus  I  learned  to  know  the  worth  of  my  husband  ;  and 
also  to  appreciate  the  value  of  the  recipes  I  had  learned 
so  reluctantly  for  the  healing  of  burns  and  scalds.  And 
thus  my  heart  was  won  to  the  lot  which  I  think  God  ap 
pointed  for  me. 

"  The  scars  were  on  his  hands  still  when  he  placed  the 
marriage  ring  on  my  finger  and  the  mass-priest  blessed  us 
at  the  altar.  Glorious  scars  I  thought  them,  and  ever 
after  honoured  the  trial  by  ordeal.  But  Osric,  your 
father,  thought  otherwise. 

"  An  innocent  person,  he  considered,  might  want  the 
kind  of  courage  which  enables  a  man  to  bear  pain,  and  a 
rogue  might  possess  it.  '  Besides,'  he  said,  '  if  Edwy's 
courage  had  held  out  a  little  longer,  and  he  had  carried 
the  iron  safely  from  the  fire  to  the  stake,  the  test  of  inno- 
cence would  then  have  been  no  other  than  the  readiness 
of  the  skin  to  heal,  which  might  fail  in  a  saint.'* 

r  But  criminals,  I  think,  are  mostly  cowards ;  and  if 
not,  is  not  cowardice  in  itself  a  crime?  Besides,  does  not 
the  Almighty  answer  prayer  ?  Not  always,  however,  my 
husband  thought,  in  the  way  or  at  the  time  we  wish. 
Besides,  since  God  himself  has  endowed  man  with  judg- 
ment, he  deemed  it  mere  idleness  to  substitute  the  test 
of  accident  for  patient  search  into  the  truth. 

"  Some  of  the  clergy,  I  know,  think  with  him  ;  but  at 
all  events  that  proved  a  true  ordeal  for  my  Osric,  as  the 
years  that  followed  abundantly  showed  ;  and  if  it  be  un- 
lawful for  men  to  try  each  other  by  fire,  it  is  certain, 
from  holy  writ,  that  the  Lord  himself  often  useth  thi3 
ordeal  to  test  us. 


SAXON  SCHO OLS  AND  HOMES.  139 

THE  LADY  ADELEVE'S  HOME. 

•t  TT  was  a  great  change  to-  me  from  the  Abbess  Hil- 
A  da's  monastery  to  my  husband's  home. 

"  There  was  much  for  me  and  my  maidens  to  do  in  pro- 
viding for  our  large  household.  Every  day  a  score  of 
men  sat  at  our  board ;  and  often  my  husband  would  bring 
a  hunting  party  back  with  him,  for  whom  a  feast  had  to 
be  ready  as  quickly  as  Abraham  prepared  his  calf  for 
the  angels.  And  our  guests  were  not  angels,  nor  were 
calves  in  our  climate  so  easily  made  ready.  Therefore 
we  had  always  large  store  in  the  house  of  salted  meat, 
and  fruits,  and  more  especially  of  ale  and  mead  ;  for  no 
Saxon  would  drink  water  if  ale  was  to  be  had. 

"  These  hunting  feasts  were  very  strange  to  me  at  first. 
The  guests  commonly  abode  the  night,  and  sometimes 
drank,  through  the  night..  My  boys,  as  they  grew  old 
enough,  served  them  with  horns  of  mead  and  ale  ;  and  I, 
and  any  matrons  who  might  be  with  me,  began  the  feast 
by  pledging  the  principal  guests.  But  as  the  harp  and 
the  horn  were  passed  around,  and  the  mirth  grew  wilder, 
and  the  songs  more  unsteady,  we  withdrew  with  the  lads, 
And  often  through  the  night,  as  I  listened  to  the  sounds 
of  drunken  revelry,  I  longed  for  the  songs  of  Csedmon, 
the  religious  poet,  and  the  midnight  chants  of  the  nuns. 
For  although  Osric  himself  was  temperate,  he  could  not 
for  hospitality's  sake  stint  or  moderate  his  guests. 

"  When  the  children  were  able  to  understand,  I  taught 
them  as  well  as  I  could  to  chant  the  vesper  and  sunrise 
hymns  ;  and  sometimes  a  hope  lighted  up  my  heart  that, 
perhaps,  those  infant  lispings  of  His  praise  were  as  dear 
to  Him  who  took  the  children  in  his  arms  as  the  richer 
music  of  the  holv  brotherhood. 


1 4o  THE  EARL  Y  DA  TTiV. 

"  Yet  those  were  days  of  many  lessons,  I  think,  to  me, 
and  of  almost  unbroken  happiness,  whilst  I  learned  to 
love  the  lowly  joys  of  a  woman's  life  of  daily  service. 
Around  our  homestead  arose  the  dwellings  of  labourers, 
mechanics,  and  fishermen  ;  and  around  our  children  grew 
up  the  children  of  our  faithful  thralls. 

"  The  first  shadow  that  was  thrown  across  our  married 
life  was  the  great  Abbess  Hilda's  death ;  if  I  may  call 
that  a  shadow,  which  was  but  the  passing  of  a  blessed 
spirit  tc*  its  own  place  in  the  light,  the  place  of  bliss  to 
which  she  belonged. 

"  I  remember,  as  if  it  was  yesterday,  every  circumstance 
around  me  at  the  moment  we  heard  the  news. 

"  It  was  the  dewy  dawn  of  a  summer  morning.  We 
and  our  household  had  sung  together  as  best  we  could 
the  matin  hymn,  which  I  had  learned  at  Whitby.  The 
servants  were  preparing  the  morning  meal  of  meat, 
wheaten  bread  and  honey,  ale,  and  mead,  in  the  hall  where 
we  all  ate  together  ;  and  we  with  the  children  had  gone 
into  the  garden,  which  as  much  as  possible  I  had  made 
like  the  convent  garden.  The  bees  were  buzzing  around 
us  ;  I  was  pointing  them  out  to  the  little  ones,  now  lying 
in  the  honey-bearing  leaves  of  the  marigolds,  or  in  the 
purple  flowers  of  the  mallows,  sucking  the  nectar  drop 
by  drop  with  their  beaks  ;  now  flying  around  the  yellow- 
ing willows  and  purplish  tops  of  the  broom,  carrying  on 
their  burdened  thighs  the  plunder  from  which  they  build 
their  waxen  castles  ;  now  crowding  about  the  round  ber- 
ries of  the  ivy  which  climbed  over  the  house,  or  the  light 
flowers  of  the  lime  trees  which  shaded  it*  when  Osric 
came  to  me  with  a  clouded  face,  and  said  in  a  low  voice, 
taking  my  hands  in  his,  1  Adeleve,  our  mother,  the  Abbess 

*  Vide  Aldhelin,  quoted  in  Sharon  Turner. 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES.  i4x 

Hilda,  is  at  rest.'  Long  as  she  had  been  ill,  it  came  on 
me  like  a  sudden  blow  benumbing  my  heart.  For  when 
does  death  not  come  suddenly?  When  is  the  moment 
when  he  can  smite  some  precious  life  into  silence,  and  we 
who  are  left  shall  not  moan  for  one  touch,  one  blessing, 
one  loving,  forgiving  look  more  ? 

"  We  sent  the  children  into  the  house,  and  he  told  me 
all  he  knew  of  her  departure. 

"  After  governing  her  monastery  many  years,  it  had 
pleased  Him  who  makes  such  merciful  provision  for  our 
salvation  to  try  her  holy  soul  for  six  years  with  the  trial 
of  a  long  sickness  to  the  end  that,  after  the  Apostle's  ex- 
ample, her  strength  might  be  made  perfect  in  weakness. 
During  all  that  time  she  never  failed  either  to  return 
thanks  to  her  Maker,  or  publicly  and  privately  to  instruct 
the  flock  committed  to  her  charge,  for  by  her  own  exam- 
ple she  admonished  all  to  serve  God  dutifully  in  health, 
and  always  to  return  thanks  to  Him  in  sickness  and  bod- 
ily Weakness.  In  this,  the  seventh  year  of  her  sickness, 
the  Abbess  Hilda  approached  her  last  day  ;  and  having 
received  the  holy  communion  to  further  her  on  her  way, 
and  called  together  the  servants  of  Christ  that  were 
within  the  same  monastery,  she  admonished  them  to  pre- 
serve evangelical  peace  among  themselves,  and  with  all 
others.  And  as  she  was  thus  speaking,  she  joyfully  saw 
death  approaching,  and  passed  from  death  into  life. 

"  That  same  night  it  pleased  God,  by  a  manifest  vision, 
to  make  known  her  death  in  another  monastery  at  a  dis- 
tance from  hers,  which  she  had  built  that  same  year. 
There  was  in  that  monastery  a  certain  nun  called  Begu, 
who,  having  dedicated  her  virginity  to  God,  had  served 
him  upwards  of  thirty  years  in  monastical  conversation. 
This  nun,  being  then  in  the  dormitory  of  the  sisters,  on 


1 42  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

a  sudden  heard  the  well-known  sound  of  a  bell  in  the  air, 
which  used  to  awake  and  call  them  to  prayers  when  any 
one  of  them  was  taken  out  of  the  world,  and  opening  her 
eyes,  she  thought  she  saw  the  top  of  the  house  open,  and 
a  strong  light  pour  in  from  above.  Looking  earnestly 
upon  that  light  she  saw  the  soul  of  the  servant  of  God  in 
that  same  light,  attended  and  conducted  to  heaven  by 
angels.  Then  awaking  and  seeing  the  other  sisters  sleep- 
ing round  her,  she  perceived  that  what  she  had  seen  was 
either  in  a  dream  or  a  vision.  Rising  immediately  she 
ran  to  the  virgin  Frygyth,  who  presided  in  the  monas- 
tery instead  of  the  abbess,  and  told  her  with  tears  and 
sighs  that  the  Abbess  Hilda,  mother  of  them  all,  had  as- 
cended to  eternal  bliss.  Frygyth  having  heard  it,  awoke 
all  the  sisters,  and  all  night  they  prayed  and  sang  psalms 
for  her  soul.  And  at  break  of  day  the  brothers  came 
with  news  of  her  death  from  the  place  where  she  died.* 

"It  is  reported  that  her  death  was  also  in  a  vision 
made  known  the  same  night  to  one  of  the  holy  virgins 
who  loved  her  most  passionately  in  the  same  monastery 
where  the  abbess  died.  This  nun  saw  her  soul  ascend 
to  heaven  in  the  company  of  angels,  and  being  at  that 
time  in  the  remotest  part  of  the  monastery  (where  the 
women  newly  converted  were  wont  to  be  on  trial  till  they 
were  regularly  instructed  and  taken  into  the  congregation) 
she  awakened  them  to  pray  for  her  soul  before  the  rest 
of  the  community  had  heard  of  her  death. 

"  We  and  our  children  and  household  assembled  with 
thousands  of  weeping  men  and  women  at  her  funeral, 
and  saw  her  laid  in  the  church  on  the  cliff  where  the 
breaking  waves  shall  chant  her  dirge  till  the  resurrection 
of  the  just. 

*  Bede  Ecc.  Hist. 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES.  143 

"  Then  we  all  scattered  to  our  dwellings,  feeling  well 
nigh  as  if  a  mother  had  been  taken  from  the  head  of 
every  home. 

"  In  other  respects  also,  besides  the  household  cares 
and  the  noisy  feastings,  the  change  was  great  from  the 
monastery  to  the  home  j  as  if  a  boat  drifting  down  the 
broad  current  of  some  great  river  where  sailed  ships  of 
all  nations,  from  amidst  the  busy  sounds  of  traffic,  with 
men  hailing  each  other  eagerly  in  all  languages,  bringing 
news  from  every  land,  were  suddenly  steered  up  a  little 
narrow  tributary  stream  just  deep  enough  for  one  shallow 
skiff,  and  moored  among  the  rushes  of  some  quiet  lonely 
valley,  with  not  a  glimpse  into  the  world  beyond. 

"  Certainly  to  me  the  convent  was  the  busy  world,  and 
the  home  the  hermit-like  retreat. 

"  Among  all  the  household  I  was  the  only  one  who 
could  read  ;  and  I  had  only  two  books — an  Anglo-Saxon 
Gospel  of  St.  Luke,  and  a  Latin  and  Anglo-Saxon  psal- 
ter, with  prayers  and  meditations  at  the  end  of  each 
psalm.  Osric,  indeed,  had  begun  to  learn  ;  but  his  stay 
at  the  abbey  school  had  not  been  long,  and  reading  never 
became  to  him  anything  but  a  very  laborious  effort  of 
mind,  for  which,  at  the  end  of  a  toilsome  day  on  the  farm 
or  at  the  chase,  he  had  little  taste. 

"  Our  estate  lay  far  to  the  north  of  Whitby,  near  the 
sea,  on  the  river  Tyne. 

"  At  first  we  used  every  Sunday  to  walk  or  ride  many 
miles  to  attend  the  service  of  God  in  the  abbey  church 
at  Wearmouth,  on  the  Wear  ;  but  as  the  children  grew 
up  around  us,  it  became  difficult  to  take  the  little  ones 
so  far,  and  it  was,  therefore,  a  great  delight  to  me  when 
another  monastery  began  to  rise  on  the  Tyne,  quite  near 
us,  at  Tarrow.      Osric   did  not  much  rejoice  in   this. 


44 


THE  FAULT  DAWN. 


He  had  no  desire  that  onr  children  should  become  monks 
or  nuns.  The  boys  he  destined  for  the  profession  of  arms 
in  the  service  of  the  king,  and  the  girls  for  wedded  life. 

"  But  I  continued  to  pray  to  our  Lord  that  if  it  pleased 
him  he  would  call  at  least  one  of  our  sons  to  serve  him 
among  the  heathen ;  and  from  their  earliest  childhood  I 
told  them  the  stories  of  Bishop  Aidan,  of  Cuthbert  carry- 
ing the  Gospel  into  the  homes  of  our  own  happy  land, 
and  of  Bishop  Wilfred  shipwrecked  on  the  shores  of 
Friesland  beyond  the  seas.  Our  children  always  listened 
with  eager  interest,  and  often  in  their  infancy  the  look 
of  reverent  awe,  which  makes  the  faces  of  little  children 
like  those  of  angels,  would  come  into  their  eyes.  But  t 
as  they  grew  older,  the  boys  seemed  to  emulate  the  ad- 
ventures of  the  missionary's  life  far  more  than  its  pur- 
pose. I  sighed  sometimes,  brave  and  affectionate  as 
they  were,  to  see  them  grow  up  so  much  more  like  me 
than  like  Deorwyn,  so  much  more  like  me  than  like  my 
lessons. 

"But  one  day  when  I  had  been  musing  mournfully 
about  these  things,  and  wishing  that  God  would  vouch- 
safe me  some  sign,  such  as  the  mothers  of  saints  have 
concerning  their  children,  and  thinking  that  there  must 
be  some  great  fault  in  me  since  my  prayers  were  not 
heard,  my  husband  found  me  in  tears,  and  would  know 
why. 

" '  What  sign  wouldst  thou  have  V  he  said. 

" '  Some  have  had  wondrous  dreams  of  discovering  fair 
heavenly  jewels,  or  have  seen  a  great  glory  of  light  round 
their  infants7  brows,  or  have  heard  voices  of  angels.' 

" '  And  what  were  these  signs  of?'  he  said. 

"  ■  That  the  babes  were  especially  dear  to  God,  and 
that  he  would  make  them  great  servants  of  his.' 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES. 


H5 


"  |  What  sign  dost  thou  need,'  he  said, '  that  the  babes 
are  dear  to  God,  when  he  says  so  ?  Dost  thou  think  the 
little  ones  the  Lord  Christ  took  in  his  arms  and  blessed 
were  all  grave  little  precocious  monks  and  nuns  ?  For 
me/  he  continued, '  it  is  sign  enough  of  good  that  they 
were  signed  with  the  holy  cross  in  baptism,  and  to  see 
the  glow  of  health  on  their  faces/ 

" '  But/  I  said, '  the  lads  are  often  in  so  much  mischief, 
and  the  girls  so  full  of  wild  glee.' 

" '  Are  not  the  girls  very  much  like  what  thou  wert  as 
a  child,  my  love  V  he  said,  smiling. 

" '  Yes/  I  said,  \  that  is  the  worst  of  it.  They  are  like 
me,  and  not  like  what  I  teach  them.' 

" '  Life  will  teach  them  soon  enough/  he  said  gravely. 
1  Better  than  thee  I  do  not  wish  the  maidens  to  be  or  to 
grow  ;  nor  do  I  desire  that  the  boys  should  serve  God 
better  than  Joseph  the  ealdorman,  or  David  the  king.' 

"  I  was  afraid  Osric  might  not  quite  understand.  Yet 
his  words  comforted  me.  After  that  I  began  to  look  less 
for  signs  of  God's  especial  favour  to  my  children,  and  to 
treasure  up  more  all  the  words  of  his  grace  and  love  in 
Holy  Writ.  And  seeing  there  seemed  so  little  chance 
of  our  little  ones  growing  up  to  be  saints,  I  tried  to  do 
my  best  to  make  them  good  men  and  women. 

"  In  which  I  think  God  heard  and  helped  me.  We 
must  also  remember  that  in  the  lives  of  the  saints,  no 
doubt,  as  it  is  fit  and  reverent  they  should,  the  biogra- 
phers have  left  out  all  but  what  is  good.  Otherwise, 
how  is  it  possible  that  the  commendations  of  the  historian 
and  the  self-reproaches  of  the  saint  should  both  be  true? 
which,  no  doubt,  they  are. 

"  The  only  one  of  our  sons  who  early  showed  an  ambi- 
tion to  emulate  the  austerities  of  the  saints  was  Oswald, 
7 


1 46  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

our  second  son,  who  delighted  often  to  try  how  much 
cold,  and  fatigue,  or  hardship  of  various  kinds  he  could 
endure.  One  winter,  I  remember,  he  nearly  died  of  a 
cold  and  cough  he  caught  we  knew  not  how,  until  one  of 
his  brothers  confided  to  me  that  he  had  been  trying  the 
plan  of  the  monk  Drythelm,  who,  after  awaking  from 
some  dreadful  vision  of  the  torments  of  the  wicked  in  the 
other  world  from  frost  and  fire,  would  often  say  his 
prayers  standing  in  half-frozen  water,  and  when  remon- 
strated with  would  answer, '  I  have  felt  greater  cold  than 
this/ 

"  However,  when  I  questioned  Oswald,  he  said  he  was 
only  trying  what  he  could  bear,  that  he  might  be  fit  for 
any  kind  of  life  hereafter.  Soldiers,  he  said,  endured 
more.  And  then  he  told  me  stories  of  the  training  of 
boys  in  an  ancient  heathen  kingdom  called  Sparta,  which, 
he  said,  he  had  heard  from  Bede,  the  learned  young  monk, 
who  was  the  glory  of  the  monastery  at  Tarrow.  This 
made  it  easier  for  me  to  forbid  such  attempts  in  future. 
I  could,  of  course,  say  nothing  to  dissuade  him  from  fol- 
lowing the  saints ;  but  those  cruel  old  heathens  could 
plainly  be  no  models  for  a  Christian  lad. 

"  Marvellous  was  the  learning  Oswald  brought  back 
from  the  monastery.  The  school  at  the  Abbess  Hilda 
monastery  seemed  to  me  nothing  to  it ;  the  mensa  pytha- 
gorica  (multiplication  table)  •  the  long  sentences  he  could 
repeat  by  rote  in  Latin  ;  the  many-syllabled  Greek  verbs 
and  nouns,  which,  if  the  Greek  little  girls  and  boys  all 
learned  at  their  seminaries,  it  is  no  wonder  they  grew 
up  to  be  the  wisest  people  in  the  world ! 

"  The  zeal  of  Bede,  the  young  monk,  seemed  to  hare 
inspired  our  Oswald.  He  alone  of  all  our  boys  seemed 
•to  look  on  learning  as  a  delight  rather  than  a  task,  and 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES. 


H7 


would  tell  me  long  histories  of  what  he  learned  at  school. 
He  and  thou,  Hildelith,  our  youngest  born,  were  always 
especial  friends,  and  it  was  sweet  to  see  you  together,  so 
close  was  the  love  between  you  from  infancy.  A  delight 
it  was  to  watch  you  when  in  the  pauses  of  your  play  you 
sat  together,  thine  earnest  eyes  looking  up  full  of  rever- 
ence and  awe  into  thy  brother's  ardent  animated  face,  as 
he  tried  to  impart  some  of  his  learning  to  thee. 

"  Often  have  I  pointed  you  out  to  your  father,  and  he 
would  smile,  and  say, — 

" '  Are  you  content  with  that  sign,  my  Adeleve  ? 
There  is  hope  that  two  of  our  children  may  yet  appear 
in  the  lives  of  the  saints.' 

"  He  was  not  wrong,  Hildelith,  we  know,  at  least,  as 
to  your  brother. 

"  But  disappointment  awaited  me,  and  far  longer  wait- 
ing than  I  was  prepared  for. 

"  When  Oswald  was  fifteen,  and  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  our  people,  might  choose  his  way  in  life,  to  my 
dismay  he  came  to  your  father  and  asked,  not  as  I  had 
fondly  hoped,  for  permission  to  enter  the  monastery  of 
Tarrow,  but  for  a  horse  and  all  the  equipments  of  a  sol- 
dier, and  an  armed  servant  on  horseback  to  attend  him, 
that  he  might  ride  forth  and  see  the  world,  and  enter  the 
service  of  any  king  who  seeaaed  to  him  best  worth  serv- 
ing. 

"  Of  that  journey  and  its  results  thou  knowest.  I 
wept  many  bitter  tears  as  I  wove  the  garments  for  his 
outfit,  and  embroidered  the  silken  bag  that  he  might 
carry  round  his  neck  the  dust  from  the  grave  of  St. 
Oswald  the  king  ;  and  many  more,  as  I  thought  of  him 
wandering  forth  thus  alone  into  the  dangerous  and  treach- 
erous world.     But  your  father  bid  me  be  of  good  cheer, 


1 48  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

and  have  patience  j  an  oak  would  not  grow  like  a  mush- 
room, and  if  we  watched  each  branch,  would  often  seem 
to  grow  the  wrong  way. 

"  And  Bede,  the  young  monk,  told  me  of  Oswald  the 
king,  who  was  a  true  saint  although  a  layman.  Also,  he 
told  me  a  wonderful  story  of  St.  Monica,  a  Roman  lady 
who  lived  'and  died  not  three  centuries  since,  and  her 
son  ;  how  for  many  years  he  seemed  to  throw  off  the  faith 
of  Christ  utterly,  yet  at  last  was  brought  back  to  the 
fold,  and  became  the  light  of  all  the  Church,  even  the 
great  Father  Augustine ! 

"  But  especially  I  remember  all  that  your  father  said 
to  me  at  that  time,  because  so  soon  afterwards  he  was 
brought  home  with  a  broken  leg  from  the  chase,  and  was 
laid  on  the  bed  from  which  he  never  rose,  although  one 
of  the  best  leeches  in  all  the  land  was  a  monk  of  the 
monastery  at  Tarrow,  and  attended  him  constantly,  skill- 
fully binding  up  the  broken  limb  in  tight  ligatures. 

"  Before  any  surgeon  could  come,  however,  when  he 
was  brought  in  stunned,  I  ventured  myself  to  bleed  him 
as  I  had  learned  at  the  abbey  of  Whitby.  And  for  this 
I  shall  reproach  myself  as  long  as  I  live  as  one  thing 
that  hindered  his  recovery.  For  in  my  fright  and  dis- 
traction I  forgot  that  at  that  time  the  moon  was  waxing 
instead  of  waning  ;  at  which  time,  the  Archbishop  Theo- 
dore himself  said,  it  was  dangerous  to  let  blood. 
-  "  Yet  when  once  I,  with  bitter  tears,  told  this  to  your 
father,  he  said, '  Surely,  if  the  Lord  Christ  sees  it  time  to 
call  me,  he  will  see  that  his  summons  is  delivered,  be  it 
by  whose  hand  it  may.'  That  is  true,  and  it  comforts  me 
much  to  think  so.  But  surely  the  compassionate  Lord 
would  never  have  given  such  a  message  to  me.  No  doubt 
it  was  the  distracting  devil  who  confused  my  senses. 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES.  149 

"  Your  father's  illness  was  long,  and  his  suffering  (ex- 
cept from  the  treatment  of  the  doctor)  not  great.  Very 
often  the  good  monks  would  come  to  visit  him,  and  held 
edifying  discourses,  especially  the  young  monk  Bede,  who 
had  always  wise  words  to  say  (either  his  own  or  from 
the  innumerable  books  he  knew) ;  and  also  examples  of 
the  lives  and  deaths  of  good  men  to  encourage  us  with 
from  the  days  of  the  Gospels  to  our  own,  when  many  can 
still  remember  the  dying  looks  and  words  of  Bishop 
Aidan,  and  of  Cuthbert,  and  of  the  Abbess  Hilda,  Bishop 
Chad,  and  other  saints. 

"  His  story  of  the  death  of  Bishop  Cuthbert  and  his 
friend  Herebert  went  to  my  heart,  partly  because  I  had 
known  the  anchorite  Herebert  on  the  Derwent  Lake  in 
my  childhood. 

" '  Herebert  was  wont/  the  good  monk  Bede  told  us 
one  day, '  to  visit  Bishop  Cuthbert  on  his  island  in  the 
lake  every  year,  and  to  receive  from  him  spiritual  advice. 
Hearing  that  Cuthbert  was  come  to  the  city  of  Carlisle, 
he  repaired  one  year  to  him  according  to  custom,  being 
desirous  of  being  still  more  inflamed  in  heavenly  desires 
through  his  wholesome  admonitions.  Whilst  they  alter- 
nately entertained  one  another  with  the  delights  of 
the  celestial  life,  the  bishop  among  other  things  said, 
"  Brother  Herebert,  remember  at  this  time  to  ask  me  all 
the  questions  you  wish  to  have  answered,  and  say  all  you 
design,  for  we  shall  see  each  other  no  more  in  this  world. 
For  I  am  sure  that  the  time  of  my  departure  is  at  hand, 
and  that  I  shall  speedily  put  off  this  tabernacle  of  the 
flesh."  Hearing  these  words,  he  fell  down  at  his  feet, 
and  weeping,  said,  "  I  beseech  you  by  oui  Lord  forsake 
me  not,  but  remember  your  most  faithful  companion,  and 
entreat  the  Supreme  Goodness  that,  as  we  served  him 


1 50  THE  EARLY  DA  WK 

together  on  earth,  we  may  depart  together  to  see  his 
bliss  in  heaven."  The  bishop  applied  himself  to  prayer, 
and  having  presently  intimation  in  the  spirit,  that  he 
had  obtained  what  he  had  asked  of  the  Lord,  he  said, 
"  Rise,  brother,  and  weep  not,  but  rejoice,  for  the  Heav- 
enly Goodness  has  granted  what  we  desired."  And,even 
so  it  happened.  They  saw  each  other  no  more  in  the 
flesh  ;  but  their  souls  quitted  their  bodies  on  the  same 
day,  the  20th  of  March,  one  from  the  wooded  islet  on  the 
Derwent  Lake,  the  other  from  the  rocky  island  of  Fame 
in  the  sea ;  they  were  immediately  again  united  and 
translated  to  heaven  by  the  angels  ;  and  Herebert  being 
by  a  long  previous  sickness  disciplined  to  holiness  as 
great  as  that  of  Cuthbert,  on  the  same  day  they  ascended 
to  the  same  seat  of  eternal  bliss,  there  to  pass  through 
all  the  endless  stages  of  the  glorious  life  together,  twin 
brothers  in  the  heavenly  world.' 

"  When  the  good  Bede  had  finished,,  and  I  sat  silently 
weeping  by  my  husband's  bedside,  he  took  my  hand  and 
said, — 

"  '  Come,  let  us  pray  for  this,  even  this.' 

"  '  It  would  be  sweet,  indeed,'  he  said,  smoothing  my 
hair, '  but  can  we  ask  it  ?' 

"  '  Not  yet,  perhaps,'  I  sobbed,  ■  not  now !  but  that  he 
might  spare  us  both  till  the  elder  ones  could  care  for  the 
younger,  and  then — ' 

" '  What  if  one  of  us  should  be  left  to  bring  all  the 
flock  to  the  other  waiting  in  heaven,  and  to  the  Lord  the 
Good  Shepherd,  who  gave  his  life  for  all  ?  Would  not 
that  also  be  sweet,  my  wife  ?' 

"  I  could  not  answer,  the  words  seemed  like  a  terrible 
doom  of  separation  ;  but  as  I  sit  here,  an  old  gray-haired 
woman,  now  that  so  many  have  gone,  and  gone,  as  I  trust, 


SAXOjf  SCHO  0L8  AND  HOMES.  1 5 1 

home,  I  could  almost  think  it  might  be  sweet  thus  to 
close  the  eyes  of  all,  and  then  follow  them,  if  God  willed 
it  so,  to  Christ  and  to  him. 

"  One  thing  perplexed  me  in  the  holy  monk  Bede,  as  in 
many  of  the  monks  at  Tarrow.  Much  as  he  honoured  our 
Father  Aidan  as  a  true  servant  of  God,  he  thought  him 
and  the  Scotch  monks  in  very  great  darkness  about 
Easter  and  the  tonsure,  only  indeed  to  be  excused  by 
their  ignorance.  One  day,  however,  when  I,  who  could 
not  endure  to  hear  a  word  of  blame  on  those  holy  men, 
the  teachers  of  our  sainted  mother  the  Abbess  Hilda,  had 
spoken  to  him  of  their  devoted  labours  and  self-denying 
holiness,  and  of  the  love  all  the  people  bore  them,  he 
said, — 

" '  These  things  I  much  love  and  admire  in  Bishop 
Aidan.  His  love,  his  continence  and  humility ;  his  mind 
superior  to  anger  and  avarice,  to  pride  and  vain  glory  ; 
his  industry  in  keeping  and  teaching  the  divine  com- 
mandments ;  his  diligence  in  reading  and  watching  ;  his 
authority  as  a  priest  in  reproving  the  haughty  and  pow- 
erful ;  his  tenderness  in  comforting  the  afflicted,  and  in 
relieving  and  defending  the  poor  ;  his  willingness  to  per- 
form to  the  utmost  all  he  found  in  the  apostolical  or  pro- 
phetical Scriptures,  because  I  doubt  not  they  were  pleas- 
ing to  God ;  but  I  do  not  praise  or  approve  his  not  ob- 
serving Easter  at  the  proper  time.  Yet  this  I  approve 
in  him,  that  in  the  celebration  of  his  Easter,  the  object 
which  he  had  in  view  in  all  he  said,  did,  or  preached- 
was  the  same  as  ours,  that  is,  the  redemption  of  mankind 
through  the  passion,  resurrection,  and  ascension  into 
heaven  of  the  man  Christ  Jesus,  who  is  the  mediator  be- 
tween God  and  man.' 

"  Nobler  praise  than  this  even  the  Abbess  Hilda  could 


152 


THE  EARLY  DAWN. 


not  have  desired  for  Father  Aidan,  wherefore  I  never 
again  debated  these  points  with  the  holy  monk  Bede, 
who  in  all  things  was  so  much  wiser  and  better  than  I. 

"  But  dearer  to  your  father  than  even  his  words  was 
my  reading  to  him  in  the  Gospel  of  St.  Luke,  or  in  the 
Anglo-Saxon  Psalter,  or  my  repeating  hymns  and  prayers 
which  I  had  learned.  Especially  he  loved  the  verses  of 
this  Saxon  hymn, — 


1 0  Lord  beloved ! 

0  God,  my  Judge ! 
Hear  me ! 

1  know  that  my  soul 
Is  wounded  with  sins. 
Heal  thou  it, 

Lord  of  Heaven  ! 

For  thou  easily  canst, 

Physician  of  us  all. 

O  Light  of  light ! 

O  joy  of  life, 

Thou  art  the  Saviour,  God ! 

Nor  can  we  ever  say 

Nor  indeed  know 

How  noble  thou  art, 

Eternal  Lord ! 

Nor  through  the  hosts  of  angels 

Up  in  heaven, 

In  their  assembled  wisdom 

Should  begin  to  say  it, 

Might  they  ever  tell 

How  great  thou  art, 

Lord  of  angels, 

King  of  all  kings, 

Creator  of  all  worlds, 

The  living  Christ. 

Thou  art  the  Prince 

That  of  former  days 

The  jov  of  all  women, 


Wast  born  at  Bethlehem 

A  glory  to  all 

The  children  of  men, 

To  them  that  believe 

On  the  living  God. 

I  confess  thee, 

I  believe  on  thee, 

Beloved  Saviour ! 

Thou  art  the  Mighty  One, 

The  Eternal  King 

Of  all  creatures 

And  I  am 

One  of  little  worth, 

A  depraved  man, 

"Who  is  sinning  here 

"Well-nigh  night  and  day. 

I  do  as  I  would  not, 

Sometimes  in  actions, 

Sometimes  in  words, 

Sometimes  in  thought, 

Very  guilty 

Oft  and  repeatedly. 

But  I  beseech  thee, 

Human  born, 

Mighty  Lord, 

Pity  me, 

With  the  Holy  Spirit 

And  the  Almighty  Father, 

Tnat  I  may  do  thy  will.' 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES. 


153 


"  These  words  came  back  to  me  always  as  if  spoken 
by  your  father's  voice,  so  dear  they  were  to  him.  And 
also  the  prayers  in  the  Psalter, — 

" '  0  Lord  our  Redeemer !  0  God  of  truth !  who  hast 
redeemed  mankind,  sold  to  sin,  not  by  silver  and  gold, 
but  by  the  blood  of  thy  precious  Son,  be  our  protector, 
and  look  down  on  our  low  estate,  and  because  great  is  the 
multitude  of  thy  kindnesses,  0  raise  our  desires  always 
to  partake  them,  and  excite  our  minds  to  explore  them.' 

"  And — '  0  Lord,  who  hast  been  our  refuge  before  the 
mountains  were  brought  forth  ;  Author  of  time,  yet  with- 
out any  limit  of  time  thyself ;  in  thy  nature  there  is  no 
past,  to  thee  the  future  is  never  new.  May  no  pride  creep 
into  our  thoughts  to  avert  from  us  the  eyes  of  thy  mercy/ 

"  There  were  also  hymns  to  the  Virgin  ;  but  for  these 
he  did  not  care  so  much.  He  thought  such  elaborate 
devotions  must  be  more  for  the  monks.  Whatever  oth- 
ers might  do  who  had  more  time,  he  thought  he  should 
never  have  time  enough  to  praise  the  living  Lord  who 
died  to  redeem  us,  and  to  beseech  his  mercy  for  his  many 
sins. 

"  In  that  mind  he  passed  those  last  precious  days  of 
weakness,  and  in  that  mind  his  spirit  departed,  as  a  sin- 
ful man  calling  with  his  last  breath  on  the  Saviour. 

"  No  mysterious,  unwonted  light  came  into  the  cham- 
ber where  he  died  ;  but  great  peace  came  into  my  heart 
as  I  looked  on  him,  and  prayed  God  to  give  me  grace  to 
lead  all  our  little  flock,  as  he  had  said,  to  join  him  again 
in  heaven. 

"Afterwards   other  thoughts   came,  dark  and  bitter 

hours,  when  I  thaught  of  the  dreadful  visions  some  have 

had  of  little  sins  being  visited  with  frost,  and  fire,  and 

torment  in  the  other  world  ;  of  the  devils  who,  the  monks 

7* 


154 


THE  EARLY  DAWN. 


say,  wait  to  accuse  us ;  of  the  deathless  serpents  who 
whet  their  bloody  teeth  to  pierce  guilty  souls  ;  of  dwell- 
ings most  bright  and  fair,  which  they  see  from  afar,  but 
may  not  enter  ;  of  the  angelic  choirs  whose  radiance  they 
hear,  while  the  mocking  devils  say, '  There  you  may  never 
dwell/  and  the  wretched  soul  exclaims, '  Wo  is  me,  that 
I  ever  saw  the  light  of  the  human  world  V 

"  Especially  did  the  vision  of  Drythelm  distress  me,  as 
it  had  been  related  by  the  holy  Bede. 

"  Drythelm,  as  thou  mayest  have  heard,  was  a  thane, 
and  master  of  a  family,  who  lived  at  Cuningham,  beyond 
the  Cheviot  Hills, — a  layman,  but  one  who  led  a  relig- 
ious life,  with  all  that  belonged  to  him.  This  thane 
fell  sick,  and  his  distemper  daily  increasing, '  at  the  be- 
ginning of  one  night/  said  the  good  monk  Bede, '  he  died. 
But,  in  the  morning  early,  suddenly  coming  to  life  again, 
all  those  who  sat  weeping  around  the  body  fled  away  in 
a  great  fright,  except  only  his  wife,  who  loved  him  best, 
and,  though,  in  a  great  trembling,  remained  with  him. 
He  comforting,  said,  "  Fear  not,  for  I  am  now  truly  risen 
from  death,  and  permitted  to  live  again  among  men ; 
however,  I  am  not  to  live  hereafter  as  I  was  wont, 
but  in  a  very  different  manner."  Then,  rising  from  his 
bed,  he  repaired  to  the  oratory  of  the  little  town,  and 
continued  in  prayer  till  day ;  immediately  divided 
his  substance  into  three  parts, — one  whereof  he  gave 
to  his  wife,  another  to  his  children,  and  the  third  he 
divided  among  the  poor.  Not  long  after  he  repaired 
to  the  monastery  of  Melrose,  which  is  almost  enclosed 
by  the  winding  of  the  river  Tweed  ;  and  having  been 
shaven  as  a  monk,  dwelt  there,  in  a  cell  alone,  apart  from 
the  brethren,  till  the  day  of  his  death,  in  extraordinary 
contrition  of  mind  and  body,  saying  p    yers  and  psalms, 


SAXON  SGHO  OLS  AND  HOMES.  *     155 

through  the  winter  all  but  immersed  in  the  river,  the 
cakes  of  ice  floating  around  him.  And  when  any  won- 
dered how  he  could  endure  such  cold  and  such  austeri- 
ties, he  would  say,  "  I  have  seen  greater  cold  and  greater 
suffering  than  this." 

" '  He  would  not  relate  what  he  saw  to  slothful  or  neg- 
ligent persons,  but  only  to  such  as  would  make  use  of  his 
words  to  advance  in  piety. 

" '  At  first,  he  said,  one  with  a  shining  countenance  and 
bright  raiment  led  him  silently  to  the  northeast  (be- 
tween the  east,  where  is  the  seat  of  Christ,  and  the  north, 
where  is  Satan's  seat).  They  came  to  a  great  valley,  on 
one  side  full  of  dreadful  flames,  on  the  other  no  less  hor- 
rid for  violent  hail,  and  cold,  and  snow,  where  multitudes 
of  deformed  human  spirits  were  continually  leaping  in 
intolerable  agony  from  the  ice  to  the  fire.  But  this  was 
not  hell.  At  the  end  of  this  valley  on  a  sudden  the  place 
began  to  grow  dusk  and  dark,  till  nothing  could  be  seen 
save  the  shining  raiment  of  the  guide.  As  they  passed, 
great  globes  of  flame  shot  up,  as  if  from  a  black  pit,  and 
fell  back  into  it  again  ;  and  these  were  full  of  tortured 
human  souls.  Then  behind  him  rose  the  sound  of  hide- 
ous lamentation,  mixed  with  insulting  laughter  of  fiends  ; 
and  as  the  noise  drew  nearer,  he  saw  the  howling  and 
wailing  souls  of  men  dragged  into  the  darkness.  And 
as  they  passed,  he  discovered  among  them  the  form  of  a 
shaven  monk,  of  a  layman,  and  of  a  woman,  showing  that 
none  may  escape.  Ever  louder  grew  the  wailing  of  men- 
and  the  laughter  of  devils,  until  the  fiends  sought  to  seize 
him  with  burning  tongs.  But  they  durst  not ;  and  when 
the  bright  guide  reappeared  they  all  fled. 

"  Then  turning  towards  the  southeast,  he  was  led  into 
an  atmosphere  of  clear  light ;  and  before  them  arose  a 


1 56  THE  EARL T  DA  WK 

vast  wall,  without  door,  window,  or  opening.  Soon,  he 
knew  not  how,  they  were  at  the  top  of  it  and  saw  within 
a  great  and  pleasant  field,  full  of  fragrant  flowers,  and 
irradiated  by  light  beyond  the  brightness  of  midday. 
In  that  field  were  countless  assemblies  of  men  in  white, 
young  and  cheerful,  and  many  companies  seated  together 
rejoicing.  But  this  was  not  yet  the  kingdom  of  heaven 
for  beyond  it  shone  a  fairer  light,  and  he  heard  sweet 
voices  singing,  and  perceived  a  surpassing  fragrance,  com- 
pared with  which  even  the  light,  and  sounds,  and  odours 
of  that  first  fair  field  seemed  poor  and  mean.  And  the 
guide  told  him  that  the  valley  of  ice  and  fire  was  the 
place  where  souls  are  tried  and  punished  who  delayed 
to  confess  and  amend  their  crimes  until  their  death-bed  ; 
yet,  because  they  confessed  and  repented,  at  last  shall  at 
the  day  of  judgment  be  received  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven.  The  fiery  pit  was  the  mouth  of  the  eternal 
hell.  The  flowery  field,  where  were  so  many  in  white, 
ever  youthful  and  joyful,  is  the  place  where  sojourn  the 
souls  of  those  who  have  died  in  good  works,  yet  not  so 
perfect  as  to  be  admitted  at  once  into  the  glorious  king- 
dom of  heaven,  whose  rays  so  far  surpassed  it.  Yet 
shall  all  at  last,  except  those  in  the  hopeless  hell,  at  the 
day  of  judgment  see  Christ,  and  be  admitted  to  the  joy* 
of  his  kingdom. 

"  ■  This/  said  Bede,  -  was  the  vision  of  Drythelm  the 
thane/  And  many  a  sleepless  night  have  I  passed  think- 
ing of  these  terrors,  and  of  the  sinfulness  of  the  best 
among  us.  For  which  of  us  can  know,  if  this  be  true, 
whether  our  souls  may  not  be  plunged,  from  the  loving, 
parting  looks  of  weeping  friends,  into  that  homeless,  in- 
human ice  and  fire  ? 

"  Indeed,  all  that  vision  seems  dark  and  clrear  to  me  ; 


SAXON  SCHOOLS  AND  HOMES.  15- 

for  what  are  mid-day  light,  and  fragrant  odours,  and 
flowery  fields  to  me  ? — or  what  dreariness  would  there 
be  in  darkness,  or  what  insupportable  in  pain,  if  only  till 
the  judgment  day  my  hand  might  touch  the  hands  of 
my  beloved,  and  if  only,  from  time  to  time,  a  word  might 
come  to  us,  dropping  on  us  softly  through  the  silence, 
from  the  blessed  Lord  himself,  such  as  he  spoke  on  earth, 
when  he  said  to  the  multitudes, '  Come  unto  me  ye  that 
are  weary  •/.  to  the  sinner  weeping  at  his  feet,  ■  Thy  sins 
are  forgiven  ;'  or  to  the  dying  thief, '  To-day  thou  shalt 
be  with  me  in  Paradise  ?' 

"  But  Drythelm,  it  seems,  neither  saw  the  Lord  Christ, 
nor  any  that  he  knew,  in  that  dreary  other  world ! 

"  Have  things  changed  then  in  the  other  world  since 
the  poor  beggar  was  carried  from  the  dogs  and  the  piti- 
less rich  man's  gate  to  Abraham's  bosom,  or  since  the 
penitent  thief,  who  had  no  time  to  do  penance,  and  none 
to  pay  for  masses  to  be  said,  went  straight  from  the  cross 
to  Paradise  ? 

"  Since  then,  indeed,  the  compassionate  healer  of  men, 
the  Lord  who  died  for  us,  has  gone  into  that  world, 
and  lives  there.  Can  His  welcome  be  less  pitiful  than 
Abraham's  ? 

"  Through  all  my  terrors  sometimes  those  dying  words 
of  the  Lord,  so  precious  to  my  dying  husband,  come  to 
my  heart  like  my  mother's  voice  when  the  storms  were 
howling  over  our  cradles  amidst  the  mountains  ;  all  the 
rest — visions,  prophecies,  dreadful  threateninga  «  seem  to 
me  but  inarticulate  howls  and  wails,  and  those  words  only 
living,  human,  and  eternally  true. 

"  Slowly  they  fall  on  my  heart,  and  my  heart  responds 
'To-day,'  and  my  heart  answers,  ' To-day  /' — not  after 
countless  ages,  but  to-day,  straight  from  the  farewells  of 


'58 


THE  EARL  Y  DA  TFiV. 


our  beloved  to  thy  welcome !  '  shalt  tlwu  be  witlx  me  in 
Paradise.1  And  I  can  only  weep  and  say, '  With  thee, 
pitiful  Lord,  with  thee  P  Then  I  will  not  think  any  more 
of  the  fiery  valley  or  the  fragrant  fields,  but  of  Thee,  only 
of  Thee.  That  promise  is  enough  for  me  and  mine. 
'Hildelith,  my  child/  said  my  mother,  as  she  finished,, 
'thou  hast  been  a  nun  from  childhood,  and  art  better, 
and  knowest  more  than  I,  can  I  be  wrong  V  " 


V. 

SAXON   MINSTERS   AND    MISSIONS. 


THE  WORDS  OF  OSWALD,  THE  SON  OF 
OSRIC  AND  ADELEVE, 

WHICH    HE    SPAKE    TO    ME,    HIS    SISTER    HILDEI,ITH, 


V. 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND    MISSIONS. 

THE    WCRDS    OF    OSWALD,  THE    SON    OF    OSRIC    AND    ADELEVE,   WHICH 
HE    SPOKE    TO    ME,   HIS    SISTER    HILDELITH. 


HE  first  great  event  which  rises  into  clear- 
ness from  the  sunny  haze  of  childish  memo- 
ries was  the  death  of  the  Abbess  Hilda, 
probably  because  it  was  the  first  sorrowful 
event  which  shadowed  our  happy  home,  falling  not  like 
the  shadow  of  some  especial  rock  across  our  especial 
path,  but  like  the  darkness  of  an  eclipse  on  the  joy  of  all 
the  land.  Well  I  remember  my  mother  leading  me,  then 
a  boy  not  five  years  old,  by  the  hand,  after  the  bier, 
weeping  as  she  went.  Our  mother,  whom  I  had  never 
seen  weep,  who  was  only  known  to  me  as  my  angel  of 
consolation  in  all  my  childish  griefs !  And  well  also  I 
remember  the  dead  silence  whilst  the  coffin  was  being 
lowered  into  the  grave,  followed  by  the  great  burst  of 
unrestrained  weeping  from  all  the  multitude  assembled, 
when  the  grave  was  raised  to  the  level  of  the  common 
earth  around,  and  the  last  trace  of  the  '  Mother  of  the 
people'  was  buried  out  of  our  sight.    All  that  dark  day 

(161) 


1 62  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

stands  ou ;  clear  and  distinct  from  the  sunny  days  before 
and  after,  even  to  the  last  hour,  when  we  children  stood 
lisping  our  vesper  hymn,  as  was  our  wont,  around  our 
mother,  and  she  told  us  always  to  remember  that  day, 
and  to  learn  from  it  how  the  good  were  honoured,  who 
loved  God  and  all  the  people,  as  the  Abbess  Hilda  did. 
And  she  told  us  also  that  at  that  hour,  while  we  had  been 
singing  our  hymn,  the  Abbess  Hilda  had  been  joining  in 
the  songs  of  the  happy  angels,  in  the  palace  of  the  Lord 
Christ,  which  was  to  be  her  home. 

"  My  next  distinct  recollection  is  of  being  taken  to  the 
green  island  on  the  Derwent  Lake,  to  see  the  holy  anchor- 
ite Herebert,  who  dwelt  there — a  white-haired,  grave, 
old  man,  who  welcomed  us  on  the  little  green  glade  among 
the  trees,  and  laid  his  hands  on  our  heads  and  blessed 
us.  The  words  I  cannot  recall,  only  the  gentle  tone, 
and  the  trembling  pressure  of  his  withered  old  hand  (so 
different  from  my  mother's),  and  the  tears  in  the  grave, 
kind  eyes.  For  he  had  blessed  our  mother  also  in  her 
childhood. 

"  And  not  long  after  this  we  were  told  his  spirit  had 
gone,  on  the  very  same  day  as  his  friend  Bishop  Cuth- 
bert's,  because  he  asked  God  that  they  might  enter 
heaven  together. 

"  All  around  us,  north  and  south,  and  west,  the  land 
was  rich  in  hallowed  places,  sacred  not  with  the  dim 
light  of  ages  past,  but  with  the  sanctity  of  holy  lives, 
lived  and  ended  amongst  us  within  the  memory  of  man, 
inspiring  us  also  to  aim  at  posts  of  honour  in  the  army 
of  our  Lord,  since  the  roll  of  his  saints  was  not  yet 
closed. 

"The  Holy  Island  of  Lindisfarne,  whence  mission- 
aries had  gone  throughout  our  country,  and  made  it 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  163 

from  a  heathen  into  a  Christian  land  ;  the  lonely  rock  of 
Fame,  whence  prayers  had  gone  up  to  God  from  the 
heart  and  voices  of  Aidan,  Ethelwold,.  and  Cuthbert, 
warding  off  flames  from  the  besieged  city,  and  tempests 
from  imperilled  mariners  ;  the  Abbey  of  Hilda,  the  royal 
maiden  ;  the  post  of  the  little  wooden  church  on  which 
Bishop  Aidan  was  leaning  when  he  died  in  the  tent  out- 
side ;  the  royal  country  seats  where  St.  Oswald  the  king 
sat  at  Bishop  Aidan's  feet,  interpreting  the  words  of  life  to 
his  people  ;  the  field  where  he  knelt  with  his  army  before 
the  battle  at  the  foot  of  the  wooden  cross,  and  conquered  ; 
the  field  where  he  died  in  fight  for  his  people  and  his 
faith  with  the  heathen  Penda  ;  these  were  the  holy  places 
of  our  childhood,  and  the  men  and  women  our  mother 
taught  us  to  revere  and  to  follow. 

"  Thus  the  common  moorland,  hills,  green  valleys,  and 
seas,  and  lakes  around  us,  with  their  islands  and  shores, 
were  a  kind  of  Holy  Land  to  us  ;  and  our  saints  were 
not  merely  glorified,  far  off,  heavenly  beings,  to  be  re- 
ligiously venerated,  but  human  beings,  whose  voices  our 
kindred  had  heard,  whose  hands  had  touched  us,  and  in 
whose  steps,  not  yet  effaced  from  the  very  paths  around 
us,  we  might  humbly  tread. 

"  In  the  very  Monastery  of  Jarrow,  whose  school  we 
attended,  was  there  not  indeed  one,  scarcely  older  than 
myself,  who  trod  close  in  those  very  saintly  steps  ?  mak- 
ing their  traces  deeper  for  others  to  see  and  follow  ;  even 
the  good  and  learned  Bede,  the  devout  and  studious  and 
truthful,  who  pursued  learning  with  the  ardour  which 
other  men  devote  to  war  or  ambition.  He  had  scarcely 
known  any  other  home  than  the  monasteries  of  Wear- 
mouth  and  Jarrow,  and  he  scarcely  desired  to  know  any 
other  world.     Given  in  to  the  care  of  the  monks  at  the 


1 64  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WK 

age  of  seven,  there  he  studied,  and  wrote,  and  prayed,  and 
meditated,  and  taught,  for  sixty  years,  serving  God  in  true 
humility  by  making  known  to  men  the  services  of  others. 

"  He  knew  Latin,  and  Greek,  and  Hebrew,  was  a  pro- 
ficient in  sacred  music,  and  learned  in  theology,  but  most 
of  all  in  the  sacred  Scriptures.  Did  he  not  die  in  the 
very  act  of  unsealing  these  life-giving  truths  to  his  people 
through  the  medium  of  our  Saxon  tongue  ? 

"  He  also  believed  firmly  in  the  continued  existence  of 
the  Holy  Catholic  Church,  that  when  we  read  in  the 
Holy  Bible  the  lives  of  the  apostles  and  martyrs,  we  read 
not  of  the  heroes  of  a  far-off  golden  age,  divided  by  sharp 
boundaries  from  our  own,  but  of  men  and  women  subject 
to  like  passions,  and  upheld  by  the  same  living  God  as 
ourselves.  He  felt  that  while  he  was  studying  the 
Church  history  of  other  days,  the  Church  history  of  his 
own  was  being  written  in  heaven.  Thus  he  accepted  it 
as  his  more  especial  vocation  to  transmit  the  chain  of 
saintly  history  to  the  generations  to  come  ;  and  unwearied 
were  the  pains  he  took  to  ascertain  from  witnesses  every 
fact  he  could  of  the  lives  and  deaths  of  the  good  men 
whose  biographies  he  afterwards  wrote. 

"  His  was  not,  however,  the  life  I  desired  for  myself. 
No  such  pale  and  still  reflection  of  the  life  of  others  was 
my  ambition. 

'  "  I  knew  that  my  mother  had  great  hope  of  me  that 
I  should  grow  up  to  be  a  saint ;  and  I  knew  well  that 
the  saints  she  held  before  us  as  our  guides  and  patterns 
had  all  devoted  themselves  to  God  in  the  monastic 
or  eremitical  life ;  all,  with  the  exception  of  St.  Oswald 
the  king,  and  my  father,  whom  my  mother  held  by  some 
rare  exceptional  grace  to  be  equal  to  any  saint  that  ever 
tormented  himself,  or  was  tormented. 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  165 

"  Her  hope  of  me  was  founded  on  my  ardent  desire 
for  knowledge,  which  made  books  as  one  means  of  ac- 
quiring it  my  delight,  and  on  the  interest  with  which  I 
always  listened  to  her  narratives  of  the  missions  of  holy 
men  among  the  heathen,  whether  she  spoke  of  the  Scot- 
tish monks  of  Iona  and  Lindisfarne,  or  of  the  Irish  and 
Saxon  monks,  who  in  our  own  time  were  carrying  back 
the  Christian  faith  to  the  original  homes  of  our  heathen 
ancestors  in  old  Saxony.  But  both  these  feelings  had 
another  source  in  me.  My  devotion  to  study  was,  I  think, 
rather  a  spirit  of  intellectual  adventure  than  any  voca- 
tion for  a  contemplative  life.  It  was  a  phase  of  that 
passion  for  wandering  which,  as  she  often  told  me,  is  an 
inborn  instinct  of  our  race.  My  mind  was  voyaging 
through  grammars  and  histories  into  far-off  times  and 
lands,  until  the  time  for  action  should  begin.  Thus,  also, 
in  the  acts  of  the  missionary  saints,  what  interested  me 
was  the  peril,  the  change,  the  mysterious  forests  into 
which  they  plunged,  the  strange  people  they  encountered, 
rather  than  the  religion  they  taught.  Interwoven  with 
all,  no  doubt,  was  the  glory  of  the  ennobling  end  for 
which  they  ran  these  risks  ;  yet  to  me  the  charm  lay 
rather  in  the  risks  than  in  the  end. 

"  I  knew  what  my  mother  was  hoping  from  me,  and  I 
was  not  without  a  vague  intention  of  one  day  finding 
myself  engaged  in  such  a  work,  but,  nevertheless,  I  felt 
myself  impelled  to  thwart  her  plans.  It  was  not  alto- 
gether the  spirit  of  perversity  which  led  me.  I  loved 
and  honoured  her  fervently,  and  would  have  done  almost 
anything  to  save  her  pain  or  give  her  pleasure.  And 
yet  in  this  dearest  purpose  of  her  heart  I  could  not  yield 
my  will  to  hers.  I  could  not  take  her  desire  for  my 
vocation.     I  could  not  enter  on  a  religious  life  at  the  im- 


1 66  TUB  EABL  Y  DA  WN. 

pulse  of  another  will.  Often  I  had  intended  to  speak  to 
her  of  this,  but  never  could  make  up  my  mind,  knowing 
what  a  world  of  bright  visions  in  her  heart  it  would 
destroy.  So  it  happened  that  at  last  I  told  her  of  my 
purpose  in  the  most  abrupt  manner,  asking  her  to  request 
of  my  father  equipment  for  me  to  go  forth  and  seek  my 
fortune  in  the  world. 

"  I  felt  too  much  for  her  to  dare  to  show  what  I  felt. 
I  knew  she  thought  I  was  tempted  if  not  possessed  by 
evil  spirits,  and  was  merely  going  forth  idly  to  drink  my 
fill  of  the  vain  and  bitter  world.  I  felt  I  was  but  obey- 
ing an  instinct  which  had  grown  from  her  nature  into 
mine — the  instinct  of  our  Saxon  race,  and,  above  all,  of 
its  royal  house  of  Odin,  to  press  ever  further,  outward 
and  onward  into  the  unknown  world. 

"  I  remember  well  her  asking  me  to  read  to  her  the 
parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son  the  evening  before  I  left, 
and  feeling  the  parallel  she  was  silently  drawing,  as  the 
tears  flowed  down  her  face.  But  that  strange  dumb- 
ness which  so  often  comes  over  our  people  when  our 
dearest  feelings  are  wounded  and  our  deepest  heart  is 
touched,  came  over  me.  I  could  neither  justify  myself, 
nor  comfort  her,  nor  shed  one  tear,  but  sat  polishing  my 
armour,  while  she  was  weeping  over  me  as  the  prodigal. 

"  Yet  I  knew  she  had  parted  with  some  considerable 
portion  of  her  wedding  '  morning  gift'  to  make  my  equip- 
ment better  ;  and  she  knew  there  was  none  in  the  world 
so  dear  to  me  as  she  was. 

"  And  so  we  parted  ;  we  two  who  loved  each  other  so 
tenderly,  and  were  so  much  alike ;  and  because  we  so 
loved  and  so  resembled  each  other,  were  wounding  each 
other  so  sorely. 

"  My  father  understood  us  both,  and  as  I  rose  early 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  167 

in  the  morning,  that  I  might  not  have  a  second  parting, 
he  was  in  the  stable  before  I  had  saddled  my  horse,  and 
said, — 

"  '  God  bless  thee,  boy.  Thou  wilt  not  forget  thy 
mother's  words ;  her  voice  will  come  back  to  thee 
morning  and  evening.  No  bird  can  learn  to  fly  in  the 
nest/ 

"  Then  the  tears  came  irrepressibly,  and  I,  who  had  felt 
so  strong  in  manly  purpose,  yearned  like  a  child  for  my 
mother's  embrace. 

"  But  I  could  only  say, — 

" '  Father,  thou  knowest  I  am  not  going  to  be  like  the 
ungrateful  son  in  the  parable.     Tell  her  so.7 

"He  smiled,  and  brushing  his  hand  over  his  eyes, 
said, — 

" '  Nay,  nay,  thou  art  no  prodigal.  If  thou  art  needed 
and  called  back  to  the  old  house,  thou  wilt  not  be  slow 
to  come.' 

"  Well  I  remember  these  words,  for  they  were  the  last 
I  ever  heard  him  speak. 

"  Then  he  gave  me  his  hand  ;  and  I  sprung  into  the 
saddle  and  rode  away.  But  thou,  little  Hildelith,  hadst 
been  watching  me  from  the  window,  and  wert  waiting 
for  me  by  the  old  apple-tree  in  the  orchard  where  I  used 
to  teach  thee  to  read. 

"  Thy  poor  little  face  was  pale  and  grave  as  any 
woman's,  and  thou  hadst  much  too  awful  a  sense  of  thy 
mission  to  be  weeping  ;  for,  laying  one  little  trembling 
hand  upon  the  horse's  neck,  and  the  other  on  my  arm, 
thou  stretchedst  up  towards  me  and  didst  whisper, — 

"  *  Oswald !  brother  Oswald  !  thou  art  not  going  into 
the  far  country,  away  from  God,  among  the  wicked  peo- 
ple, to  feed  on  husks,  and  to  forget  us  all  ?'    . 


1 68  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

"  It  was  some  time  before  I  could  reassure  thee,  and 
persuade  thee  tha£  I  was  not  going  away  from  God  ;  and 
when  that  fear  passed  from  thee,  all  the  tenderness  of  our 
love  came  over  us  both,  and  it  was  hard  to  part,  until  at 
length  I  said  to  thee, — 

" '  Thou  must  be  our  mother's  stay  and  comfort,  and 
watch  her  looks  and  movements,  and  do  everything  to 
cheer  her  until  my  return.  For  our  elder  brothers  will 
be  at  the  chase  or  in  the  field,  and  will  have  houses  of 
their  own  ;  and  our  elder  sisters  will  soon  be  married  ; 
and  thou  wilt  be  the  joy  of  our  parents  till  I  return. 
And  then/  I  said,  half  in  jest  and  half  in  purpose, '  when 
thou  art  a  grown-up  maiden,  and  I  a  staid,  grave  man, 
we  will  go  together  among  the  heathens  in  the  wild  Ger- 
man forests,  and  teach  them  to  be  good.' 

u  So  I  went  out  into  the  world. 

"  There  is  little  need  to  say  much  of  what  I  saw  there. 
The  hills  and  valleys,  and  the  men  and  women,  were  much 
more  like  those  of  our  home  than  I  had  expected.  In 
the  distance,  always  soft  blue  hills  and  purple- shaded  val- 
leys ;  or  at  morning  and  evening  a  glow  of  gold,  and 
rose,  and  violet,  over  city,  hill,  and  plain,  and  river.  At 
our  feet,  when  the  distance  is  reached,  brown  earth,  green 
blades  of  grass,  gray  rocks,  cities,  and  homesteads  like 
those  we  left  yesterday. 

"  Not  that  I  mean  that  my  life  was  a  continual  break- 
ing up  of  illusive  dreams.  Is  not  every  blade  of  grass 
as  delicately  varied  in  tint  as  distant  hills  at  sunrise  ? 
Is  not  every  mountain  flower  illuminated  with  its  gold 
and  crimson  as  richly  as  the  evening  clouds?  And  has 
not  every  field  and  every  flower  its  own  fragrance,  never 
known  except  to  those  that  know  and  love  them  ?  Love 
of  endless  change, — the  simplest  life  at  home,  the  simplest 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  169 

scenes  around  our  country  homes  can  gratify  it !  Not  a 
day,  not  a  face,  not  a  field,  not  a  flower,  not  a  perfume  is 
like  another.  But  we  need  to  wander  to  learn  this.  At 
least  I  did.  And  we  need  to  suffer,  that  we  may  learn 
how  the  passion  for  wandering  onward,  and  the  love  of 
home,  are  both  satisfied  only  in  one  pilgrimage  and  one 
home. 

"  Everywhere  I  found  the  names  of  the  Scottish  fathers 
of  our  Church  in  honour  ;  although  scarcely  one  of  them 
survived,  and  everywhere  the  Roman  customs,  as  re- 
garded Easter  and  the  tonsure,  prevailed.  At  Lichfield  I 
visited  the  very  monastery  where  the  holy  Bishop  Chad, 
of  whom  my  mother  used  to  tell  us,  prayed  and  preached, 
and  at  length  heard  the  heavenly  music  summoning  him 
to  go  the  way  he  came. 

"  Throughout  the  kingdoms  of  the  East  and  South  An- 
gles, of  the  Mercians,  and  in.  Lindsey  (Lincoln),  were 
churches  founded  by  the  unwearied  labours  of  the  holy 
men  of  Iona  and  Lindisfarne,  and  also  in  Wessex.  To- 
wards the  south  the  streams  began  to  flow  the  other  way. 
In  Kent  the  traditions  had  a  western  instead  of  a  north- 
ern source.  There  I  saw  the  cathedral  church  of  Can- 
terbury, and  the  abbey  consecrated  by  precious  relics 
from  Rome,  and  by  the  memory  and  relics  of  Augustine, 
the  first  missionary  whom  the  great  Pope  Gregory  had 
sent  to  make  the  Angles  into  angels.  There  was  the  sil- 
ver cross  which  had  been  borne  before  Bishop  Augustine. 
The  Kentish  monks  were  very  proud  of  tracing  the 
descent  of  their  Church  to  the  Church  of  the  imperial 
city  and  of  the  apostles.  And  although  my  heart  rever- 
ently clung  to  the  sacred  names  of  our  childhood,  to  the 
memory  of  Iona,  and  Aidan,  and  Hilda  the  abbess,  there 
was  something  that  seemed  great  and  glorious  in  thus 
8 


1 7o  THE  EABL  Y  DA  W2t. 

having  our  country  linked  to  the  city  which  is  the  heart 
of  Europe  ;  which  was  the  metropolis  of  the  Empire  of 
the  World,  and  is  now,  as  it  were,  the  metropolis  of  the 
Church.  It  seemed  like  coming  forth  from  a  still  valley 
among  the  hills  into  the  plains,  where  are  the  cities  and 
the  great  rivers  linking  all  lands  to  each  other  with  their 
silver  chains. 

"  At  London  I  saw  the  bones  of  Sebbi,  the  pious  king 
who  had  died  a  monk,  laid  in  the  great  church  of  St. 
Paul's,  on  the  Thames,  built  over  the  old  Roman  Temple 
of  Diana ;  while,  some  way  up  the  stream,  still  stood, 
on  the  marshy  island,  the  ruins  of  the  Temple  of  Apollo.* 

"  Around  some  of  the  cities  the  Roman  walls  still  stood, 
although  they  had  been  destroyed  and  burnt  to  ashes 
again  and  again,  in  the  continual  wars  between  the  kings 
of  the  Saxon  kingdoms. 

"  At  the  time  I  travelled  through  the  land  there  wa3 
no  great  war  ;  but  occasionally  I  came  in  with  a  band  of 
armed  men  bent  on  avenging  some  private  wrong.  The 
kings  did  what  they  could  to  restrain  these  private  feuds, 
and  the  bishops  and  priests  did  more.  But  law  was  slow, 
and  the  blood  of  our  people  is  hot,  and  the  more  power- 
ful thanes  and  earls  often  preferred  taking  the  law  into 
their  own  hands. 

"  But  altogether  the  land  was  peaceful.  Everywhere  in 
the  fairest  valleys  were  rising  monasteries,  with  their  lit- 
tle villages  of  humble  dwellings  clustering  round  them. 
The  dwellings  of  the  nobles  were  not  usually  of  stone  or 
fortified,  and  therefore,  when  any  part  of  the  country  was 
unsettled,  the  women  and  children  were  frequently  placed 
under  the  care  of  the  nuns,  for  a  double  protection  >f 
stone  walls  and  religious  sanctuary. 

*  On  the  site  of  Westminster  Abbey. 


,       SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  1 7 1 

"  It  was  on  her  flight  to  such  a  refuge  that  I  met  the 
maiden  Etheldreda,  with  her  mother,  and  was  able,  with 
my  servant  to  succour  and  defend  them,  and  bring  them 
to  the  convent  in  peace. 

"  One  spring  morning  in  the  forest  near  Glastonbury 
we  rode  together,  the  maiden  Etheldreda  and  I ;  and  I 
held  back  the  boughs  from  brushing  against  her  fair  face  ; 
and  as  she  passed  through  the  wood  on  her  white  pal- 
frey, everything  around  her  seemed  to  change  and  shine  ; 
and  the  birds  sang  no  more  like  birds,  but  like  fairy  song- 
sters singing  bridal  songs  at  a  wedding ;  and  the  sun- 
beams were  no  more  common  sunbeams,  but  messengers 
direct  from  heaven,  that  touched  with  gold  her  waving 
hair  and  found  a  home  in  her  eyes. 

"  The  feud  was  healed.  The  maiden  Etheldreda  and 
her  mother  left  the  convent,  and  rejoined  the  court  of 
Ina,  king  of  Wessex.  And  with  Ina  I  took  service,  and 
Etheldreda  and  I  were  married  before  the  leaves  of  that 
spring  had  faded  into  autumn. 

"  And  my  mother  thought  I  had  forsaken  forever  the 
purpose  to  which  she  had  longed  to  dedicate  my  life. 

"  Three  years  God  gave  us  to  live  together.  I  saw  my 
fairy  queen  of  love  and  beauty  grow  into  the  gentle  wife, 
the  unutterable,  daily  joy  of  my  heart,  and  the  wise  lady 
and  ruler  of  my  household,  whose  gentle  commands  no 
one  ever  thought  of  disobeying.  For  these  years  she 
moved  about  the  house  with  her  '  three  keys  of  household 
rule,  of  the  storeroom,  the  linen  chest,  and  the  money 
box.'  And  beauty  and  poetry  came  into  every  simple 
household  event  with  her  presence  and  her  touch. 

"  And  at  last  I  saw  her  with  her  babe,  when  she  said 
she  thought  there  could  be  no  other  joy  left  for  her  to 
know,  except  it  was  the  joy  of  entering  into  heaven  and 


i  72  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

looking  for  the  first  time  on  the  face  of  Christ.  For  she 
was  as  devout  as  a  nun. 

"  And  then  the  whole  world  of  happiness  vanished  like 
a  vision  from  my  life. 

"  Mother  and  infant  were  laid  in  the  abbey  church, 
where  we  had  been  wont  to  listen  morning  and  evening 
to  hymn  and  prayer. 

"  They  said  the  joy  was  too  much  for  her,  and  so  she 
was  taken  to  the  greater  joy  beyond  ;  and  the  babe  fol- 
lowed her,  sleeping  silently  away  with  a  smile  on  its  face, 
as  if  it  had  been  awakened  to  heaven  by  its  mother's  kiss. 
And  I  was  left  alone,  without  home  or  wife  or  child  or 
purpose  or  wish  in  life. 

"  Weary  as  I  was  of  the  world,  I  had  not  a  thought  at 
that  time  of  entering  a  monastery.  The  monastic  life 
had  never  had  any  attraction  for  me  as  a  refuge,  and  I 
had  no  longer  energy  to  think  of  the  missionary  work, 
which  was  the  only  form  in  which  I  had  ever  felt  it  pos- 
sible for  me. 

"  Therefore  I  remained  at  the  court  of  the  good  King 
Ina  until  he  sent  me  on  a  mission  to  the  Abbey  of 
Exeter. 

"  At  that  time  Winfried — afterwards  the  great  Arch- 
bishop Boniface — was  there  as  an  humble  monk.  He  had 
the  greatest  veneration  for  the  learning  and  piety  of  our 
old  friend,  the  monk  Bede  of  Jarrow.  And  many  a  ques- 
tion he  asked  me  about  him,  until  we  became  friends  ; 
and  he  began  to  unfold  to  me  his  own  projects  for  the 
conversion  of  our  heathen  kindred  in  the  ancient  forests 
of  old  Saxony.  I  was  a  few  years  older  than  he  was,  but 
the  zeal  in  his  young  heart  seemed  to  enkindle  something 
of  the  old  glow  in  mine.  In  him  also  the  instinct  of  our 
race  was  strong.    He  was  impelled  to  his  missionary 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  173 

labours,  as  he  himself  said, '  by  the  love  of  travelling  and 
the  fear  of  Christ  f  by  which  he  meant,  doubtless,  the 
fear  of  grieving  Him  who  had  laid  on  him  the  debt  of 
preaching  the  Gospel  to  the  heathen.* 

"  The  love  of  wandering  had  lost  some  of  its  old  force 
in  me,  whose  vision  of  delight  lay  no  more  in  the  future, 
but  inwrapt  in  the  pall  of  the  irrevocable  past.  Nor  was 
the  sense  of  duty  towards  the  heathen  as  yet  strong  in 
me  as  in  Boniface.  Yet  I  returned  from  his  monastery 
to  the  court  with  some  kindlings  of  a  higher  purpose,  and 
some  faint  sense  that  since  God  yet  kept  me  in  life,  he 
would  yet  make  it  worth  living. 

"  I  could  not  quite  share  the  enthusiastic  devotion  of 
Boniface  to  the  Church  of  Rome,  but  some  words  of  his 
sank  into  my  heart.  *  Cast  all  which  hinders  thee  away/ 
he  said, i  and  direct  thy  whole  study  to  the  Holy  Scrip- 
tures, and  seek  there  that  divine  wisdom  which  is  more 
precious  than  gold  ;  for  what  does  it  become  youth  more 
to  seek,  what  can  old  age  more  profitably  possess,  than 
the  knowledge  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  which  guided  our 
souls,  without  risk  of  shipwreck,  through  the  storm  to 
the  shores  of  the  blessed  paradise,  to  the  eternal  and 
heavenly  joys  of  the  angels  ?' 

"  Therefore,  on  my  return  to  King  Ina's  court,  in  the 
intervals  of  my  work  in  administering  the  wise  laws 
which  he  had  collected  from  the  customs  of  our  fathers, 
and  had  improved  by  the  wisdom  of  the  wise  men  of  our 
times,  and  was  now  enforcing  throughout  the  land,  I  used 
much  to  frequent  the  monasteries  and  churches,  and  espe- 
cially to  lose  no  opportunity  of  hearing  or  reading  the 
Holy  Scriptures  of  the  apostles  and  evangelists. 

"  By  this  means,  and  by  God's  grace,  the  words  of 

*  Neander's  Memorials  of  Christian  Life. 


174 


THE  EARLY  DAWN. 


Christ  the  Lord  took  root  in  my  mind,  and  his  love  took 
root  in  my  heart.  I  learned  to  mourn  for  my  sins,  I 
learned  to  adore  Him  who  died  that  we  might  be  forgiven 
our  guilt  and  healed  of  our  sins.  I  began  to  feel  I  had 
a  message  to  take  to  the  heathen,  to  those  Saxon  heathen 
who,  as  Boniface  said,  are  our  '  own  flesh  and  bone/ — a 
message  of  peace,  and  love,  and  joy,  which  it  was  worth 
while  to  stay  on  earth  to  carry  far  and  wide. 

"  At  times,  however,  my  heart  was  weighed  down  by 
the  fear  that  I  had  indeed  neglected  my  vocation  in 
choosing  the  court  instead  of  the  cloister,  and  that  death 
had  fallen  on  my  beloved  for  my  sins.  To  relieve  my 
conscience  on  this  point,  I  laid  my  grief  open,  according 
to  the  custom  of  our  fathers,  before  a  discreet  and  learned 
priest,  before  Lent.  '  Confession  to  God/  says  a  holy 
bishop, '  blots  out  sins  ;  and  that  which  is  made  to  man 
teaches  how  they  may  be  blotted  out.'  The  priest  deemed 
no  public  penance  needful,  but  enjoined  on  me  the  secret 
wearing  of  a  hair-cloth  shirt,  and  throughout  Lent  an 
especial  attendance  on  the  penitential  services. 

"  That  year,  therefore,  I  watched  with  peculiar  interest 
the  penitents  who  commenced  their  public  penance  on 
Ash  Wednesday.  Barefooted,  and  covered  with  sack- 
cloth, they  prostrated  themselves  at  the  door  of  the 
cathedral.  Some  of  the  clergy  received  them  there, 
enjoined  their  respective  penances,  and  led  them  into 
the  house  of  God,  chanting  as  they  went  the  seven  peni- 
tential psalms.  Within  the  sacred  walls  the  bishop  laid 
his  hands  on  them,  sprinkled  them  with  ashes  and  lustral 
water,  covered  them  with  hair-cloth,  and  then  commanded 
them  to  depart  from  a  place  dedicated  to  God's  especial 
honour  and  service,  and  polluted  by  their  presence. 

"  Rich  and  poor  were  there  together,  noble  and  thrall, 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  1 75 

but,  humbled  and  reproved,  all  went  away  together,  with 
heads  bent  down,  many  of  them  weeping. 

"  In  heart  I  went  with  them,  following  them  silently 
from  the  church. 

"  That  Lent  was  a  time  of  solemn  secret  repentance 
and  preparation  to  me,  although  man's  eye  saw  not  my 
penance,  my  sins  having  been  against  God  rather  than 
men.  On  Holy  Thursday,  the  eve  of  the  solemn  cruci- 
fixion day,  I  went  once  more  to  the  cathedral  gates,  and 
stood  near  the  penitents.  Once  more  they  were  required 
to  suffer  the  humiliation  of  confessing  those  unholy  deeds 
which  had  brought  scandal  on  the  worthy  name  by  which 
they  were  called. 

"  This  being  done,  the  bishop  solemnly  prayed  over 
them  for  the  gracious  forgiveness  of  the  Heavenly  Father, 
and  re-admitted  them  into  communion. 

"  Great  was  the  sweetness  on  the  following  Easter  of 
receiving  '  the  sacramental  image — the  pledge  of  eternal 
life,'  as  St.  Gregory,  founder  of  our  southern  English 
Church,  terms  those  holy  mysteries.  Everything  was 
so  deepened  in  my  heart  that  it  seemed  to  me  like  my 
first  true  communion.  The  teaching  of  the  holy  Bede 
came  especially  to  my  mind  at  that  time,  howj^e  com- 
pared the  Eucharist  to  the  passover  :  \  Our  Lord  having 
substituted  for  the  flesh  and  blood  of  a  lamb  the  sacrament 
of  his  own  body  and  blood/ 

"  Heartily  my  heart  went  out  in  the  post-communion 
prayer — 

" '  Grant  that  we  may  behold  face  to  face,  and  may 
enjoy  truly  and  really  in  heaven,  Him  whom  here  we  see 
enigmatically ;  and,  under  another  species,  Him  on  whom 
we  feed  sacramentally.' 

"And  with  joy  afterwards  I  listened  to  the  paschal 
homily — 


1 76  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WK 

"'Much,'  said  the  preacher,  'is  between  the  body 
Christ  suffered  in  and  the  body  that  is  hallowed  to 
housel  *  The  body  truly  that  Christ  suffered  in  was  born 
of  the  flesh  of  Mary,  with  blood  and  bone,  with  skin  and 
with  sinews,  and  human  limbs,  with  a  reasonable,  living 
soul ;  and  his  ghostly  body,  which  we  call  the  housel,  is 
gathered  of  many  ears  of  corn,  without  blood  and  bone, 
without  limb,  without  soul ;  and  therefore  nothing  is  to 
be  understood  therein  bodily,  but  all  is  ghostily  to  be 
understood.  And  yet  that  lively  bread  is  not  bodily  so 
notwithstanding, — not  the  self-same  body  that  Christ 
suffered  in ;  nor  that  holy  wine  is  the  Saviour's  blood 
which  was  shed  for  us,  in  bodily  thing,  but  in  ghostly 
understanding.  Both  be  truly,  that  wine  His  blood,  and 
that  bread  His  body ;  and  was  the  heavenly  bread  which 
we  call  manna,  that  fed  forty  years  in  the  wilderness 
God's  people ;  and  the  clear  water  which  ran  from  the 
stone  was  then  His  blood,  as  Paul  wrote,  All  our  fathers 
drank  of  that  ghostly  stone,  and  that  stone  was  Christ. 
They  all  ate  the  same  ghostly  meat,  and  drank  the  same 
ghostly  drink.  And  he  said,  not  bodily,  but  ghostly.  And 
Christ  was  not  yet  born,  nor  his  blood  shed,  when  the 
people  of  Israel  ate  of  that  meat  and  drank  of  that  stone. 
It  was  the  same  mystery  in  the  old  law,  and  they  did 
ghostly  signify  that  ghostly  housel  of  our  Saviour's  body 
which  we  consecrate  now.'  t 

"Thus  the  paschal  feast  was  to  me  as  the  passover 
eaten  with  bitter  herbs,  with  loins  girt  for  pilgrimage 
through  the  wilderness ;  as  the  manna  and  the  living 

*  The  consecrated  bread, 
t  These  words  are  from  Epistles  and  Homilies  of  Archbishop  Elfric  of 
Canterbury,  from  a.  d.  990  to  1000,  considered  an  authoritative  representa- 
tion of  the  doctrine  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  Church  on  the  subject  of  the  Holy 
Communion. —  Vide  Soames' Bampton  Lectures. 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS. 


177 


water  from  the  rock  which  flowed  for  the  people  of  old. 
For  Christ,  the  living  Lord,  the  bread  of  life,  is  ever  the 
bread  of  God  to  all  who  trust  him.  And  was  not  I  too 
going  on  an  unknown  journey? 

"  King  Ina  saw  me  looking  worn  and  sad,  and  knew 
not  the  healing  touch  that  was  on  me,  probing  to  the  sins 
which  were  at  the  root  of  my  sorrows,  and  turning  my 
sorrows  into  bitter  draughts  of  strength  and  life ;  and 
he  and  devout  men  of  his  court  counselled  me  to  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  Rome,  as  he  himself  did  in  his  old  age. 
But  I  had  no  mind  towards  it.  The  hearts  of  many 
of  the  religious  men  and  women  around  me,  when  weighed 
down  with  care  or  sorrow,  or  weariness  of  life,  turned 
instinctively  to  Rome,  the  city  of  the  Holy  Father,  suc- 
cessor of  St.  Peter,  as  a  spiritual  home,  the  holy  city  and 
the  father's  house  of  Christendom — type  of  the  holy  city 
and  the  Father's  house  above ;  and  not  only  type,  but 
threshold.  With  me  it  was  not  so.  The  sanctuary  of 
my  childish  reverence  had  been  rather  Iona  than  Rome  ; 
the  lonely  island  of  the  northern  seas — not  the  metrop- 
olis of  the  ancient  empire.  Besides,  I  felt  my  work 
lay  not  behind,  but  before  me.  What  I  required  was, 
not  a  sacred  refuge  wherein  to  repose  after  the  day's 
work  was  done,  but  a  field  wherein  to  work  during  the 
long  day  of  life  that  remained  to  me.  Not  on  the  quiet 
graves  of  apostles,  but  on  the  battle-field  among  the 
heathen,  beyond  the  boundaries  of  Christendom,  would 
there  be  any  rest  for  a  heart  whose  possible  earthly 
future  was  so  long,  and  whose  earthly  hopes  had  blos- 
somed and  faded  sq  early,  and  were  buried  for  ever  in 
the  past. 

"  Not  far  from  Glastonbury  an  old  Roman  bridge  crossed 
a  river,  and  over  it  the  country  people  used  to  pass  in 
8* 


i78  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

great  numbers  on  market  or  on  festivals.  There,  after 
the  example  of  the  learned  Aldhelm,  Bishop  of  Sherborne, 
I  placed  myself  one  Easter  morning  with  the  harp  to 
which  I  had  learned  in  youth  to  chant  the  sacred  songs 
of  Caedmon,  the  Saxon  version  of  the  Creed,  and  the 
Te  Deum.  Many  paused  to  listen,  and  when  the  song 
ceased,  the  more  thoughtful  would  sometimes  linger  to 
ask  the  meaning  of  some  of  the  words,  to  converse  and 
to  listen  as  I  repeated  to  them  portions  of  the  Saxon 
Gospels  which  I  knew  by  heart.  In  this  way  I  became 
familiar  with  the  difficulties  and  sorrows  of  the  common 
people  ;  and  they  became  familiar  with  me,  and  told  me 
of  their  cares  and  griefs,  so  that  of  the  balm  of  sacred 
consolation  which  had  been  poured  into  my  wounds,  I 
might  often  drop  comfort  into  theirs.  That  seemed  to 
me  a  better  preparation  for  preaching  among  the  old 
Saxon  heathen,  than  a  pilgrimage  to  Rome. 

"All  this  time,  doubtless,  thou,  Hildelith,  my  sister, 
and  my  mother,  may  have  thought  I  had  forgotten  utterly 
my  father's  house.  But  it  was  not  so.  More  than  once 
T  had  sought  permission  of  King  Ina  to  leave  his  court ; 
but  he  had  entreated  me  to  stay  yet  a  while,  until  other 
thanes  could  be  instructed  in  the  new  laws  which  he  was 
bo  anxious  to  have  faithfully  administered  among  the 
people.  Especially  he  was  very  earnest  that  justice  should 
be  done  to  the  slaves  of  the  soil,  and  that  the  wretched 
heathen  pirates  should  be  prevented  from  buying  or 
selling  kidnapped  men,  or  women,  or  children,  Saxon  or 
British,  at  the  ancient  slave  market  at  Bristol,  on  the 
Severn.  Many  a  journey  I  made  thither  to  stop  this 
unholy  traffic.  There  was  a  wide  difference  between  the 
slaves  of  the  soil  on  our  estates — each  tenanting  his  own 
cottage,  and  tilling  His  own  ground,  on  payment  of  a  cer- 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  179 

tain  sum  to  his  lord,  although  they  are  not  free  to  wander 
whither  they  will,  or  to  change  masters — and  this  kid- 
napping of  any,  free  or  bond,  from  their  homes,  and  sell- 
ing them  into  hopeless  bondage  in  foreign  lands. 

"  Many  questions  had  also  to  be  settled  between  the 
Britons  and  Saxons  ;  and  many  a  rich  man  went  angrily 
away  from  the  judgment-seat  because  he  had  been  com- 
pelled to  pay  a  fine  for  making  his  slaves  work  on  Sun- 
day, the  Lord's  Day,  reckoned  free  for  all  alike. 

"Few  of  the  nobles  could  read,  and  not  all  had 
patience  to  investigate  the  truth,  as  a  judge  is  bound  to 
do,  without  fear  or  favour  between  man  and  man.  There- 
fore I  did  not  dare  hastily  to  abandon  my  post. 

"  At  length,  however,  came  the  tidings  of  our  father's 
death,  and  of  our  elder  brother's  absence  at  the  Nor- 
thumbrian court.  Wherefore  I  hesitated  no  longer,  but 
returned  to  the  old  home. 

"To  thee  and  to  my  mother  it  seemed  unmixed  joy 
thus  to  meet  once  more.  It  was  taking  up  the  dear  old 
life  again.  But  between  that  past  and  this  present  a 
whole  world  of  love  and  hope  had  been  promised  to  me, 
and  given  and  withdrawn.  And  for  all  my  buried  world 
I  had  nothing  to  show  but  two  locks  of  fair  hair — a  long 
flaxen  tress,  and  a  tiny  golden  curl.  It  was  then  Hil- 
delith,  that  thou  first  becamest  to  me  all  thou  hast  been 
ever  since ;  taking  my  dead  to  thy  heart,  thou  wouldst 
never  weary  of  listening  as  I  spoke  of  them ;  and  as 
thou  listenedst,  in  the  light  of  thy  tearful  eyes,  and  at 
thy  words  of  faith  and  heavenly  hope,  the  dead  seemed 
to  live  again,  and  once  more  paradise  grew  up  for  me  in 
the  future,  when  I  hope  to  meet  all  our  beloved  '  with 
Him.' 

"  With  my  mother  we  spoke  more  of  the  future  work 


1 8o  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

among  the  heathen  Saxons,  which  more  and  more  became 
the  definite  purpose  of  us  three.  I  am  not  sure  whether 
our  mother  ever  looked  on  Wessex  as  better  than  the 
prodigal's  far  country,  of  which  King  Ina  was  the  citizen 
who  had  fed  me  on  husks  ;  or  my  absence  altogether  as 
other  than  a  temporary  seduction  from  the  way  in  which 
I  had  been  called  to  walk.  Had  she  known  my  wife, 
and  held  our  babe  in  her  motherly  arms,  it  would  have 
been  different.  As  it  was,  the  whole  period,  I  believe, 
seemed  to  her  a  scheme  of  diabolical  seduction  ;  and  the 
utmost  she  ever  said  in  extenuation  was,  that  doubtless 
the  Almighty  would  make  even  our  wanderings  the  means 
of  training  us  for  our  work,  and  could  change  Nebu- 
chadnezzar furnaces  into  fires  to  free  the  dross  from 
the  gold. 

"  It  was  not  long  before  we  decided  to  retire  into 
monasteries — you  and  our  mother  into  that  of  Whitby, 
I  into  that  of  Jarrow,  to  which  the  great  learning  and 
fame  of  the  monk  Bede  was  now  attracting  scholars 
from  all  parts  of  England,  and  also-  from  Ireland  and 
from  the  continent  of  Europe.  He  had  refused  to  be 
made  abbot  of  this  monastery,  deeming  that  the  work 
God  had  given  him  to  do  would  be  'hindered  by  the 
cares  of  such  a  family/  The  example  of  his  steadfast 
diligence,  his  humble  submission  to  the  same  duties  as 
the  most  obscure  monks,  his  terror  of  infirmity  and  sin, 
his  daily  dependence  on  the  grace  of  God,  and  his  de- 
light in  the  Holy  Scriptures,  were  a  light  to  the  whole 
monastery,  and  a  hallowing  recollection  to  bear  with  me 
wherever  I  went. 

"  It  was  not,  however,  for  the  pursuit  of  learning  I 
had  entered  the  monastery,  nor  was  the  monastic  disci- 
pline to  me  anything  but  a  means.     The  sleep  brokep 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  1 8 1 

by  vigils  of  prayer  and  praise,  the  plain  fare,  the  rigidly- 
observed  fasts,  the  unquestioning  obedience,  and  the 
minute  order  of  the  Benedictine  rule  now  established 
there,  were,  I  trusted,  preparations  for  the  life  of  hard- 
ship and  privation  before  me. 

"  The  abbot  recognized  my  purpose,  and  in  every  way 
favoured  it.  Nor  was  I  alone  in  my  vocation.  Many 
others  of  the  monks  shared  it  with  me,  incited  by  the 
reports  which  reached  us  from  time  to  time  of  the  la- 
bours of  Willibrord  in  Friesland,  and  of  the  martyrdom 
of  the  two  brave  Saxon  priests,  the  black  and  the  white 
Hewald,  while  preaching  to  the  heathen  on  the  Rhine. 

"  These  last  were  especially  honoured  and  commemo- 
rated amongst  us.  They  had  gone  to  preach  the  faith 
among  the  ancient  Saxons  and  the  Hessians.  Both  were 
devout  and  true-hearted  men,  but  the  black  Hewald  was 
the  more  learned  in  the  Scriptures.  They  had  dwelt 
some  time  among  the  barbarous  people,  telling  them  of 
the  Redeemer,  and  daily  showing  forth  his  death  in  the 
offering  of  the  Holy  Eucharist,  and  night  and  day  prais- 
ing God  in  psalms  and  hymns,  when  suddenly  a  panic 
seized  the  heathens,  that  some  mysterious  spells  lurking 
in  the  words  of  the  strangers  (such  as  they  attribute  to 
their  magical  letters  or  runes)  would  force  them  from 
their  old  religion  whether  they  would  or  no  ;  and,  to 
break  the  spell,  they  slew  the  white  Hewald  with  the 
sword,  and  savagely  tore  the  black  Hewald  limb  from 
limb,  and  threw  him  into  the  river  Rhine. 

*  Such  histories  did  not  deter  the  bold  spirits  of  our 
younger  monks  from  desiring  a  similar  life.  That  dark 
unknown  land,  still  covered  with  the  ancient  forests,  with 
temples  in  their  black  depths  sacred  to  gods  scarcely 
dead  amongst  us  yet  as  names  of  terror,  whence  our 


1 8  2  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

forefathers  had  issued  not  a  hundred  years  ago  ;  with  its 
wild  beasts  and  wilder  men,  yet  men  of  our  very  flesh 
and  bone,  who  might  rise  into  scholars  such  as  our  Bede, 
and  saints  such  as  our  Oswald ;  those  wild  nations 
in  their  untamed  youth,  those  wild  forests  in  their 
incalculable  age,  had  stronger  at  ^actions  for  young  men 
of  our  race,  whatever  perils  la;  amongst  them,  than  a 
life  of  rigid  rule  and  monotonous  quiet  in  a  Benedictine 
monastery. 

"  But  when  time  and  circumstances  had  tried  the  tem- 
per of  those  who  volunteered  for  the  service,  the  abbot 
decided  on  only  two  as  equal  to  the  work,  Paul  the 
chanter,  and  Siegbert,  the  mason  and  carpenter — both 
tonsured  priests,  yet  skilled  in  their  various  arts. 

"  We  three  being  at  length  set  apart  to  this  mission, 
spent  the  few  months  remaining  to  us  in  acquiring  all  the 
knowledge  and  manual  skill  which  we  thought  might  be 
useful  to  us ;  and  in  the  Abbey  of  Jarrow  there  were 
mechanics  instructed  by  the  best  Italian  workmen  in 
every  art,  from  delicate  illuminations  in  colours  and  gold, 
and  jewel  work,  for  the  adorning  of  sacred  books,  to  the 
roughest  work  in  the  field.  More  especially  we  had 
amongst  us  adepts  in  every  portion  of  the  builder's  work, 
from  the  mason's  and  the  glassmaker's  to  the  fine  carver 
in  wood  and  stone. 

"  The  abbot  did  not  suffer  us  to  weaken  our  strength 
by  immoderate  fasting,  nor  did  I  myself  affect  any  unusual 
austerities.  My  bodily  strength  was  God's,  would  be 
needed  in  work,  and  must  not  be  wasted.  My  ambition 
was,  not  to  be  renowned  as  a  saint  among  men,  but  to 
bring  sinful  men  on  earth  to  Christ  my  Lord,  and,  if  it 
might  be,  to  train  them  by  his  grace  to  be  his  servants 
and  saints  in  heaven.    I  have  ever  thought  it  would  be 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  \  8  3 

better,  when  I  appear  before  him,  to  see  him  weleome  one, 
and  another,  and  another,  who,  but  for  my  poor  labours, 
might  never  have  seen  his  gracious  face  at  all,  than  to 
hear  him  even  assign  the  highest  reward  of  saintly  aus- 
terity and  devotion  to  me  alone. 

"At  length  the  last  Sunday  in  England  came.  The 
ship  which  was  to  carry  us  to  Europe  lay  at  anchor  in 
the  Tyne,  just  below  the  monastery.  And  for  the  last 
time  we  joined  in  the  chants  of  the  choir  at  Jarrow,  and 
heard  faithful  words  of  exhortation  from  the  priest  Bede, 
who  was  preaching  on  that  day.  For  the  last  time  I 
looked  on  those  paintings  on  the  walls  of  the  church, 
which  the  good  abbot,  Benedict  Biscop,had  brought  from 
Rome,  and  which  had  so  often  helped  me  to  understand 
the  work  of  our  Saviour,  and  also  my  own.  I  gave  one 
lingering  look  at  the  form  of  the  lad  Isaac  meekly  car- 
rying the  wood  of  sacrifice  behind  his  father  Abraham, 
not  knowing  who  was  to  be  the  lamb  for  burnt  sacri- 
fice. I  seemed  to  hear  the  old  man  say,  with  trembling 
voice,  those  simple  words  of  truth,  so  deep  and  eternal 
in  their  significance, '  My  son,  God  will  provide  himself 
a  lambJ  And  then  my  eyes  turned  to  the  correspond- 
ing picture  of  the  form  more  marred  than  any  man's 
stooping  beneath  the  weight  of  the  cross.  My  heart 
adoringly  responded  to  the  patriarch's  prophecy,  'Be- 
hold the  Lamb  of  God,  which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the 
world.' 

"  And  then,  from  those  lips  once  parched  with  thirst 
for  me  on  that  very  cross,  I  seemed  to  receive  the  rule  of 
the  daily  cross  to  be  borne  after  him,  and  prayed  that 
henceforth  indeed  he  would  lay  the  daily  yoke  on  me, 
and  make  my  work  no  longer  mine,  but  His. 

"  On  the  morrow  we  started. 


1 84  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

"My  mother  was  there,  Hildelith,  with  thee,  as  we 
stood  on  the  shore  waiting  for  the  boat  to  take  us  to  the 
larger  vessel. 

"  I  knew  I  was  fulfilling  the  most  fervent  desire  of  her 
heart,  which  had  become  my  own ;  and  no  benediction 
could  have  sent  me  on  my  way  with  such  hope  and  peace 
in  my  heart  as  the  simple  words  in  which  she  commended 
me  to  God,  and  bade  me  send  for  her  and  thee,  if  ever  I 
found  work  to  be  done  among  the  heathen  in  which 
women  might  help. 

"  Our  provision  for  the  way  was  small — a  net  for  fish- 
ing in  the  rivers  which  flow  through  the  forests,  a  few 
carpenter's  and  mason's  tools,  Aldhelm  and  Guthlac's 
Anglo-Saxon  Psalter,  a  Hymnal  and  a  copy  of  the  Holy 
Gospels  in  Latin,  with  Archbishop  Theodore's  Peniten- 
tial. For  food  and  raiment  we  trusted  to  God,  to  the 
labour  of  our  own  hands,  and  to  the  charity  of  our  fellow- 
Christians. 

"  At  sea  already  we  had  some  encouragement ;  for  the 
sailors,  hearing  us  chant  the  hymns  to  Christ  morning 
and  evening,  and  at  the  sacred  hours,  used  to  gather 
around  us,  and  afterwards  would  listen  earnestly  as  we 
spoke  of  Him  who  of  old  walked  on  the  sea,  and  made 
the  storm  a  calm  for  those  who  trusted  in  him. 

"  Our  ship  was  bound  for  the  coast  of  France,  and 
there  we  had  expected  to  find  churches  such  as  we  left 
in  England,  and  a  welcome.  But  the  land  was  overrun 
with  contending  hosts,  the  monasteries  were  laid  waste, 
and  many  of  the  peaceful  people  had  taken  refuge  in  the 
forests,  to  escape  the  bands  of  marauders  whicli  roamed 
hither  and  thither  in  the  train  of  the  various  contending 
princes  of  the  Frankish  and  Burgundian  races. 

"We  had  intended  to  make  a  pilgrimage   to  Rome 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  1 85 

before  commencing  our  work  among  the  heathen;  but 
the  country  between  the  Alps  and  the  Pyrenees  was  at 
that  time  so  possessed  by  hordes  of  swarthy  barbarians 
from  the  East,  the  followers  of  Mohammed  the  false 
prophet,  that  we  judged  it  best  not  to  delay  our  progress 
by  attempting  the  journey,  but  to  strike  at  once  to  the 
northwest,  across  the  Yosges  mountains  into  Swabia  and 
Saxony. 

"  On  our  way  through  the  Yosges,  by  the  Lake  of 
Constance,  we  came  on  many  monasteries  founded  by 
Irish  and  Scotch  monks,  the  kindred  of  our  father  Aidan. 
We  spent  many  reviving  days  at  Luxeuil,  the  abbey  built 
by  the  holy  Columba.  There  we  heard  how,  not  a  hun- 
dred years  before,  coming  from  Ireland,  passing  by  the 
coasts  of  England,  then  wholly  given  to  idolatry,  Columba 
and  his  brethren  went  into  the  wilderness  to  lead  a  pil- 
grim life,  and,  if  it  might  be,  to  win  the  heathen  around 
to  Christ.  They  wandered  long,  until  they  came  to  a 
valley  where  the  grass  was  growing  and  the  young  trees 
were  springing  out  of  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  Roman 
city ;  and  there,  out  of  the  walls  of  Roman  temples  and 
the  pavements  of  Roman  baths  and  palaces,  they  reared 
this  Abbey  of  Luxeuil.  They  showed  us  also  a  cave  in 
the  forest  where  the  abbot  Columba  used  to  retire  with 
his  Psalter  to  read  and  pray,  and  told  us  how  the  very 
bears  and  wolves  used  to  respect  the  holy  man,  and  how 
the  heathen  listened  and  believed.  They  also  transcribed 
for  me  this  prayer  of  Columba,  which  I  ever  bear  about 
with  me  :  '  0  Lord,  give  me,  I  beseech  thee,  in  the  name 
of  Jesus  Christ  thy  Son,  my  God,  that  love  which  never 
faileth,  that  my  light  may  be  kindled  and  never  quenched ; 
that  it  may  burn  in  me,  and  give  light  to  others.  And 
thou,  0  Christ,  oui  dearest  Saviour,  do  thou  thyself  con- 


186  THE  EARLY  DAWK 

stantly  kindle  our  lamps,  that  they  may  shine  evermore 
in  thy  temple,  that  they  may  receive  unquenchable  light 
from  thee,  the  unquenchable  Light ;  that  our  darkness 
may  be  enlightened,  while  the  darkness  of  the  world 
flies  from  us.  My  Jesus,  I  beseech  thee,  give  thy  light 
to  my  lamp,  that  in  its  light  may  be  manifested  to  me 
that  Holy  of  Holies  in  which  thou,  the  eternal  Priest, 
dost  dwell ;  that  I  may  continually  contemplate  thee  only, 
long  for  thee,  gaze  on  thee,  and  yearn  for  thee  in  love. 
O  Saviour,  full  of  love,  show  thyself  to  us  that  knock, 
that  we  may  perceive  and  love  thee  alone,  think  of  thee 
day  and  night ;  that  thy  love  which  many  waters  cannot 
quench  may  possess  our  whole  souls,  and  never  more  be 
quenched  by  the  waters  of  the  earth.' 

"  From  Luxeuil  we  wandered  further  to  the  Abbey  of 
St.  Gall,  by  the  lake,  where  one  night  its  first  founders 
are  said  to  have  heard  the  spirit  of  the  mountains  calling 
on  the  spirit  of  the  waters  to  unite  against  those  daring 
men  who  came  to  subdue  their  solitudes  in  a  mighty 
Name  which  they  were  constrained  to  recognize. 

"  Day  after  day  we  wandered  on,  through  regions  deso- 
lated by  the  marches  and  conflicts  of  tribe  after  tribe  of 
northern  heathens,  and  rested  at  night  in  some  solitary 
abbey  founded  by  pilgrim  Irish  monks  on  the  sites  of 
ruined  Roman  cities. 

"  But  our  way  lay  yet  beyond,  to  regions  never  pene- 
trated by  civilized  men — to  heathens  who  had  never 
owned  the  Roman  sway. 

"At  length  we  came  to  a  forest  in  the  Thuringian 
land,  through  which  we  had  often  to  cut  our  way  with 
axe  and  hammer,  and  traced  the  course  of  a  stream 
through  the  thick  trees  until  it  grew  deep  and  wide 
enough  to  bear  us  oil  its  waters.    Then  we  built  a  rough 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  1 87 

raft  of  pine  stems,  and  embarking  on  it  with  our  few 
treasures — our  tools,  our  nets,  and  our  four  books — com- 
mitted ourselves  to  God,  and  implored  him  to  point  out 
the  place  of  our  rest. 

"  Night  and  day  we  chanted  the  psalms  and  hymns  at 
the  sacred  hours.  By  day  a  thousand  busy  creatures 
were  stirring  in  the  woods  besides  ourselves ;  and  in  many 
a  green  glade  we  fancied  the  innocent,  harmless  beasts 
welcomed  us — the  green  lizards  among  the  water,  the 
squirrels'  peering  at  us  from  the  trees,  the  birds  twitter- 
ing their  happy  morning  songs.  But  at  night  the  very 
sound  of  our  own  voices  had  something  weird  and  awful 
in  it,  and  very  weird  and  wild  were  the  echoes  from  the 
dark  and  silent  woods.  Many  a  time  we  felt  they  were 
more  than  echoes.  Mocking  laughter  or  wild  wails  an- 
swered us,  dying  away  in  the  unknown  depths  of  the 
wilderness  ;  and  then  our  spirits  would  have  failed,  had 
not  faith  prevailed,  for  we  knew  the  evil  sprites  were 
aroused,  and  were  defying  us  to  battle — we,  so  weak  in 
ourselves,  yet  so  strong  in  our  Lord. 

"  At  length  one  evening  we  came  to  a  green  valley  in 
the  midst  of  the  wood,  sloping  up  to  a  grassy  knoll,  round 
which  wound  the  stream.  On  landing  we  found  it  was  a 
clearing  made  by  the  hand  of  man,  for  felled  trunks  lay 
buried  here  and  there  among  the  tangled  brambles  and 
long  grass. 

"  We  thought  this  might  be  our  appointed  rest,  and 
kneeling  down,  we  prayed  that  He  who  guided  Abraham 
the  Hebrew  would  guide  us  now. 

"  Then,  throwing  our  net  into  the  stream,  Siegbert  and 
I  drew  it  up  full  of  fish.  We  had  lighted  a  fire,  to  broil 
the  fish  and  scare  away  the  wolves,  when  Paul  the  chanter, 
who  had  been  exploring  the  forest,  came  hastily  towards 


1 88  THE  EARLY  DA WK 

us  and  said,  with  a  voice  trembling  with  agitation, '  Touch 
not  a  morsel  here.  The  place  is  enchanted.  In  a,  recess 
of  the  forest  on  the  other  side  of  this  hill  is  a  heathen 
temple,  and  within  it  is  an  altar  of  unshapen  stones,  black- 
ened with  recent  fires,  and  strewn  with  bones  ;  the  bones 
of  men/  he  added,  throwing  down  what  seemed  the  skel- 
eton of  a  human  hand.  '  But  more  than  that,  as  I  was 
turning  away,  a  creature  that  seemed  neither  man  nor 
brute,  with  hands  like  claws,  and  long  tangled  hair,  glared 
at  me  with  wild  eyes  from  among  the  trees,  and  then  dis- 
appeared, with  an  unearthly  yell,  into  the  forests.  Let 
us  embark  at  once,  and  hasten  from  this  accursed  spot.' 

"  But  it  came  into  my  heart  to  say, 

" '  From  this  curse  the  Lord  came  to  redeem  us  and 
the  world.  On  the  very  seat  of  Satan  why  may  we  not 
erect  the  throne  of  Christ  the  Lord  V  Siegbert  thought 
with  me.  And  after  passing  the  night  in  prayer  and 
chanting,  on  the  morrow  we  drew  our  boat  to  the  shore, 
and  setting  up  a  rude  cross  in  the  very  midst  of  the 
heathen  temple,  cleansed  it  of  the  bones  and  ashes,  and 
consecrated  it  as  a  temple  to  Almighty  God,  dedicating 
it  to  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul.  I  had  also  another  hope. 
To  this  temple  the  heathen  were  sure  to  resort  again, 
and  here  might  be  the  beginning  or  the  end  of  our  work  ; 
here  we  might  plant  a  church  by  the  power  of  the  Gospel, 
or  lay  the  foundations  for  others  to  build,  as  such  foun- 
dations must  often  be  laid,  in  the  blood  of  martyrdom. 

"  Having  claimed  the  temple  for  God,  we  did  not  dare 
to  use  its  materials  for  our  own  purposes,  dreading  at 
once  the  displeasure  of  the  saints  to  whom  we  had  dedi- 
cated it,  and  the  assaults  of  the  evil  spirits  to  whom  it 
had  belonged  before. 

"  We  therefore  erected  a  hut  at  some  little  distance 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  1 89 

from  it,  and  began  our  tilling  of  the  ground  on  the  other 
side  of  the  little  knoll.  For  our  stock  of  provisions  was 
all  but  exhausted,  and  it  was  not  too  late  in  the  summer 
for  us  to  hope  for  a  crop  from  the  seeds  of  wheat  and  corn 
we  had  brought  with  us. 

"  For  some  days  we  saw  nothing  of  the  strange  being 
who  had  so  appalled  Paul  the  chanter.  But  at  length, 
one  evening  as  we  were  singing  our  vesper  hymn,  I  espied 
a  human  figure  crouching  among  the  bushes.  I  said 
nothing  until  the  hymn  was  finished,  and  then  approached 
it ;  but  the  poor  creature  was  more  terrified  at  us  than 
Paul  had  been  at  him,  and  it  was  long  before  we  could 
persuade  him  to  venture  near  us,  when,  to  our  relief,  we 
found  it  was  no  misshapen  dwarf,  or  satyr,  or  demon  of 
the  woods,  but  a  poor  wild  boy  who  seemed  to  have 
escaped  into  the  forest  at  some  of  the  terrible  human 
sacrifices  of  the  heathen,  and  to  have  grown  up  among 
the  beasts.  We  clothed  him  from  such  of  our  own  gar- 
ments as  we  could  spare,  and  by  degrees  taught  him  to 
speak  and  to  understand  us,  so  that  this  wild  man  of  the 
woods  became  our  faithful  servant.  His  mind,  indeed, 
was  weak  and  easily  bewildered,  and  we  could  never  get 
him  to  understand  any  difficult  theology.  But  in  that  he 
came  to  love  the  name  of  God  the  Father  who  made  us, 
and  of  Christ  the  Lord  who  redeemed  us,  and  to  under- 
stand what  it  was  to  pray,  we  deemed  him  at  last  worthy 
to  be  baptized,  which  we  did,  by  the  name  of  John,  in 
the  stream,  thus  consecrating  at  once  the  wild  waters 
and  the  wilder  man.  Our  little  field  bore  a  fair  crop,  so 
that  we  had  wherewithal  to  store  our  granary  against 
the  winter. 

"  The  winter  was  severe.  The  stream  was  frozen,  and 
the  marshy  ground  near  it.     The  snow  lay  thick  through 


1 9o  TUB  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

the  forest,  and  drifted  so  as  almost  to  bury  our  little  hut, 
and  no  heathen  came  near  us.  And,  moreover,  Paul  the 
chanter,  who  was  of  a  feeble  constitution,  was  laid  up 
with  aguish  fever.  I  began  to  have  .nisgivings  as  to 
whether  we  had  chosen  right,  and  lest  we  should  sink 
into  mere  settlers  in  the  wilderness. 

"  Many  a  night  I  wrestled  alone  with  God  in  prayer, 
when  one  mid-winter  day  the  boy  John  came  rushing 
into  the  hut,  where  I  was  watching  by  the  sick-bed  of 
Paul,  and  exclaimed, — 

"  '  Fly  for  life  ;  they  are  coming  to  murder  us  all.' 

"  The  shock  aroused  our  sick  brother  from  the  stupor 
in  which  he  was  lying,  and  wrapping  his  garments  about 
him,  he  sat  up  in  his  bed  pale  and  trembling.  But  this 
was  the  moment  for  which  I  had  been  praying  for  weeks. 

"  We  resolved  to  await  the  heathen  by  the  cross  in 
their  temple,  offering  up  the  Holy  Eucharist,  and  chant- 
ing the  praises  of  the  Lord. 

"  Before  the  sun  had  risen  above  the  trees  they  came. 
"When  first  they  saw  us  standing  by  their  altar  in  our 
white  priestly  robes,  they  paused  and  drew  back.  We 
continued  chanting,  when  one  of  them,  bolder  than  the 
rest,  angrily  threw  his  spear  at  us.  It  pierced  the  right 
arm  of  the  cross,  which  we  felt  to  be  a  sign  from  heaven. 
Therefore,  advancing  towards  them  with  the  cross  in  my 
hand,  I  spoke  to  them,  calling  on  them  in  the  name  of 
Christ  to  forsake  their  cruel  idols  and  worship  Him. 

"  To  my  joy  they  understood  the  words  I  spoke  ;  and 
in  a  dialect  sufficiently  like  our  own  for  me  to  under- 
stand, one  of  them  came  forward  and  said, — 

"  '  Who  are  ye  that  invade  our  forests,  and  speak  to  us 
of  strange  gods  V 

"  '  We  are  the  servants  of  the  God  whose  Bign  is  our 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  191 

defense/  I  said,  pointing  to  the  spear  lying  at  the  foot 
of  the  cross,  from  which  it  had  rebounded.  '  See,  your 
weapons  are  powerless  against  ours/ 

■  At  that  moment  two  women  escaped  from  the  men 
who  had  brought  them  hither  to  sacrifice,  and  rushing 
forward,  threw  themselves  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  ex- 
claiming, '  Save  us,  0  Lord  Christ,  and  ye  his  servants/ 
One  of  the  women  remained  with  her  arms  clasped  around 
the  cross,  but  the  other,  rising  to  her  full  height,  clasped 
her  hands,  and  looking  up  to  heaven  said, — 

"  \  0  Christ,  thou  art  mighty  to  save  f  then  turning  to 
the  bewildered  heathen  she  said, — 

"  '  See,  you  brought  us  hither  to  slay  us,  and  the  God 
whom  we  serve  has  sent  his  servants  before  us  to  save  us 
and  you.' 

"  As  she  stood  thus,  her  long  robe  floating  around  her 
majestic  form,  and  her  fair  hair  shining  about  her,  she 
looked  like  an  angel,  and  the  heathen  Saxons,  among 
whom  there  is  much  religious  reverence  for  holy  and 
devout  women,  exclaimed, — 

"  '  She  is  a  Yala,  a  prophetess !  Let  us  listen  to  her 
words/ 

"  The  captive  woman  bid  them  hearken  to  us,  who,  she 
said,  were  sent  of  God  to  teach  them.  Then  I  gave  to 
them  the  great  message  from  God  concerning  his  Son, 
enforcing  it  as  well  as  I  could  by  contrast  with  their  own 
selfish  and  revengeful  gods.  I  tried  to  make  them  un- 
derstand who  the  Lord  Christ  is,  and  what  he  has  done 
and  suffered  for  us  ;  how,  even  as  we  spoke,  he  listened, 
and  was  waiting  to  receive  us. 

"  When  they  sought  proofs  of  His  power,  I  pointed 
them  to  the  fallen  and  broken  images  of  their  gods,  pow- 
erless to  defend  their  own  temples  from  the  invasion  of 


1 92  THE  EARL Y  DA  WN. 

us  the  feeble  servants  of  the  Almighty.  I  told  them  also 
of  the  cities  and  fertile  fields  which  everywhere  replaced 
the  wilderness  where  the  name  of  Christ  prevailed.  All 
day  they  listened,  and  through  the  night,  as  we  retired 
to  our  hut,  in  the  interval  of  our  chanted  psalms,  we  heard 
them  debating  our  words  with  each  other  as  they  sat 
around  their  camp  fires.  The  next  morning  their  chief 
came  to  us,  and  said, — 

"  '  The  words  you  speak  are  good,  the  things  you  prom- 
ise are  fair.  Nor  are  they  altogether  strange  to  us.  We 
have  heard  of  this  great  Name  of  which  you  speak,  that 
it  is  strong  in  the  battle-field,  and  against  fire  and  flood  ; 
and  we  would  hear  more.' 

"  After  some  more  discourse  they  departed,  leaving  with 
us  the  two  Christian  captive  women,  for  whom  we  built  a 
hut  on  a  meadow  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  stream, 
hoping  it  would  prove  the  germ  of  a  nunnery,  and  that  ere 
long  I  might  send  for  thee,  Hildelith,  and  my  mother. 

"  Before  many  days,  the  heathen  returned  with  their 
women  and  children  ;  and,  after  due  instruction,  we  bap- 
tized them  in  the  little  river.  Never  had  the  forest  seen 
such  a  festival  before,  and  never  had  our  hearts  known 
such  gladness. 

"  Soon  a  village  sprang  up  around  the  little  wooden 
church  which  we  built  on  the  site  of  the  heathen  temple, 
and  around  the  village  the  trees  were  felled ;  on  the 
slopes  of  the  little  hill  we  taught  them  to  make  vine- 
yards, and  cornfields  sprang  up  in  the  clearings  of  the 
forests  ;  while  around  our  huts  we  planted  gardens  of 
herbs,  mallows,  thyme,  and  other  flowers  such  as  bees 
love,  from  which  we  gathered  stores  of  honey,  and  dis- 
tilled also  many  a  healing  balm  for  sickness  and  wounds. 
Bread  and  wine  were  provided  for  the  Eucharist  from 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  193 

the  vines  and  corn,  fruits  of  the  labours  of  Christian 
hands ;  and  Christian  hearts  were  there  to  honour  and 
to  share  the  blessing. 

"  Their  progress  in  holiness  was,  however,  slower  than 
we  could  wish.  Often  our  quiet  was  broken  by  sounds 
of  angry  strife,  and  with  all  our  care  we  could  not  always 
stop  the  contest  before  blood  had  been  shed  ;  nor  could 
we  always  prevent  that  blood  being  cruelly  avenged  by 
the  kindred  of  the  dead. 

"  In  these  matters  I  found  my  experience  in  adminis- 
tering the  laws  of  King  Ina  very  serviceable.  I  endeav- 
oured to  modify  their  often  savage  customs  by  the  good 
king's  Saxon  code.  If  I  could  gain  their  attention,  they 
would  generally  obey. 

"  Our  greatest  disappointment,  however,  was  after 
Siegbert,  the  carpenter  monk,  and  I  had  made  a  mission- 
ary journey  further  into  the  forest,  on  which  we  had  been 
delayed  some  weeks.  It  was  in  spring ;  the  long-con- 
tinued rains  had  been  unfavourable  to  the  sowing  of  the 
crops  ;  there  had  been  great  mortality  among  the  swine 
that  were  pastured  in  the  forest,  and  also  much  danger- 
ous sickness  among  the  people. 

"  As  we  came  back  towards  dusk,  to  our  great  grief 
we  found  a  number  of  our  baptized  Christians  performing 
a  religious  dance  around  a  sacred  oak  which  had  been 
left  standing  on  the  summit  of  the  hill  whereon  the  vil- 
lage was  built.  They  were  directed  by  a  weird  old 
woman  who  had  been  a  priestess  and  prophetess  among 
them,  and  who  was  muttering  monotonous  incantations 
as  they  moved  in  a  circle  round  the  tree. 

"  The  circle  was  breaking  up  as  we  approached,  and 
we  reached  the  hut,  where  Paul  the  chanter  was  awaiting 
us,  without  any  one  knowing  we  had  arrived. 
9 


i94 


THE  EAIILY  DAWK 


"  He  told  us  a  sad  tale : — how  as  the  pestilence  in- 
creased the  faith  of  the  people  seemed  to  waver,  and  the 
church  was  less  and  less  attended,  until  at  length  the 
murmurs  of  discontent  arose  to  a  storm,  and  this  aged 
prophetess,  whom  at  first  they  had  consulted  secretly, 
persuaded  many  of  them  that  we  were  murdered,  that  the 
gods  of  their  tribe  were  avenging  their  insulted  majesty, 
and  that  the  only  hope  lay  in  returning  to  the  old  wor- 
ship. 

"  All  night  I  spent  alone  on  the  floor  of  the  church  in 
tears  and  prayer.  It  was  the  story  of  the  absent  Moses 
and  the  idolatrous  Israelites  once  more.  The  same,  and 
yet,  I  thought,  perhaps  how  different  in  God's  sight !  I 
was,  indeed,  no  Moses.  Might  not  I  myself  have  been 
the  cause  of  this  sin  of  the  people,  by  too  hastily  receiving 
them  into  the  fold  of  the  Church  ;  and,  perhaps,  by  too 
much  picturing  earthly  blessings  as  the  reward  of  piety  ? 
The  fruit  of  piety  and  a  good  life  they  surely  are  ;  but 
had  I  warned  these  children  enough  of  the  chastenings 
with  which  God  sees  it  needful  to  discipline  his  beloved  ? 

"  Before  the  morrow  I  had  resolved  what  to  do.  The 
sacred  tree,  which  I  had  spared  for  its  noble  beauty  as  a 
shade  for  the  people  to  gather  beneath  in  summer,  was 
too  much  linked  with  unhallowed  memories  to  live. 
Temptation  whispered  to  the  people  in  every  rustle  of 
its  myriad  leaves,  and  it  must  fall. 

"  Our  re-appearance  among  them  already  in  some  man- 
ner counteracted  the  influence  of  the  prophetess  by  dis- 
proving her  predictions.  Many  at  once  welcomed  us 
with  tears  of  joy,  and  confessed  how  their  faith  had  all 
but  failed ;  but  others  scarcely  returned  our  greetings  at  all. 

"  No  time  was  to  be  lost.  I  took  an  axe  in  my  hand, 
and  approaching  the  oak,  sacred  as  it  had  been  to  Thor 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  195 

the  Thunderer,  began  to  fell  it.*  Some  of  the  faithful 
people  formed  a  circle  round  me  ;  but  the  majority  of  the 
tribe,  slowly  gathering,  uttered  murmurs  which  rose"  to 
angry  cries  as  the  strokes  of  the  axe  fell  on  their  ears, 
till  the  boldest  broke  through  our  faithful  disciples,  and 
one  powerful  man  seized  my  arm. 

"  Disengaging  myself  from  him,  I  held  the  axe  aloft, 
and  said, — 

" '  Who  am  I,  a  feeble  man  to  fight  with  him  ye  call  the 
Thunderer,  if  he  is  indeed  so  mighty  ?  Clear  the  field, 
and  let  there  be  a  fair  fight.  If  Thor  is  to  be  trusted,  he 
will  defend  his  own.'  The  crowd  fell  back  in  an  instant ; 
then,  grasping  the  axe  in  my  hands,  I  exclaimed  aloud, — 
'  0  Christ  our  Lord,  show  thy  strength  in  the  weakness 
of  thy  servant,  and  save  this  thy  people  from  their  sins/ 

"  The  next  strokes  fell  through  the  silence  of  the  expect- 
ant crowd.  Again,  however,  the  angry  murmur  began 
to  rise,  when  the  axe  penetrated  to  a  larger  hollow  in 
the  tree,  and  part  of  it  began  to  totter.  At  this  sight 
the  murmurs  deepened,  but  they  were  answered  by  the 
triumphant  shouts  of  the  faithful.  A  breathless  silence 
followed,  and  at  length  a  portion  of  the  mighty  trunk, 
which  had  already  been  doomed  by  time,  fell  crashing  to 
the  ground,  scattering  the  crowd  right  and  left.  When 
they  re-assembled  and  found  that  no  one  was  injured,  and 
that  I  was  still  cutting  the  remainder  with  my  axe,  some  of 
the  men  who  had  welcomed  us  back  took  courage  and 
joined  in  the  work,  until  the  whole  of  the  giant  trunk  lay 
prostrate,  its  branches  stretching  their  helpless  monster 
arms  far  down  the  hill. 

"  A  shout  of  triumph  burst  from  the  faithful.  After- 
wards a  low  chant  was  heard  from  the  voice  of  Paul  the 

*  An  incident  in  the  life  of  Boniface. — Neander. 


1 96  THE  EARL T  DA  WN. 

chanter,  which  was  caught  up  by  voice  after  voice  until 
nearly  the  whole  throng  joined  in  the  Saxon  Te  Deum, 
acknowledging  Christ  to  be  indeed  God  and  Lord. 

"  Then  I  began  the  Saxon  Creed,  which  the  people  re- 
peated reverently  after  me.  And  afterwards  I  asked 
them  if  they  had  indeed  forgotten  the  message  of  divine 
love  we  had  brought  them,  the  precious  blood  shed  to 
redeem  them,  the  glorious  Lord  to  whose  service  they 
had  sworn  themselves  for  ever  ?  I  asked  them  who  it 
was  who,  having  first  given  them  Himself,  had  given 
them  all  the  good  things  they  possessed,  with  the  promise 
of  endless  joy  in  heaven,  if  they  would  obey  Him  ?  I 
asked  them  what  they  would  think  of  a  child  who,  after 
being  tenderly  cared  for  by  father  and  mother,  and  pro- 
vided with  everything  he  desired  or  needed,  should  lift 
his  hand  against  his  father  or  his  mother  because  they  re- 
fused him  once  something  his  sick  fancy  lusted  for  ?  The 
love  of  God,  I  said,  was  at  once  a  father's -and  a  mother's. 
I  told  them  that  I  reproached  myself  that  I  had  not  told 
them  more  of  the  discipline  with  which  he  chastens  those 
whom  he  loves.  'But  God/  I  said, ' himself  has  taken 
the  teaching  from  my  unworthy  lips  by  His  afflictions, 
and,  showing  you  the  weakness  of  your  faith,  calls  you 
to  repent  and  turn  to  Him,  and  seek  His  pardon  and  a 
tenfold  measure  of  the  grace  you  need.'  Then  repeating 
to  them  the  vow  they  had  made  in  Saxon  at  their  bap- 
tism, many  of  them  said  it  after  me  with  voices  broken 
with  sobs.  And  afterwards  we  all  knelt  beside  the  pros- 
trate oak,  while  the  people,  weeping  like  penitent  chil- 
dren, said  after  me  the  Lord's  Prayer. 

"  I  thought  it  right  afterwards  to  impose  many  penances 
on  them.  And  after  this  I  felt  greatly  the  need  of  faith- 
ful and  instructed  Christian  women  to  teach  the  mothers 


8AX0J7  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.        .     197 

and  little  ones.  The  Christian  captives  had  been  re- 
stored to  their  kindred,  and  therefore,  Hildelith,  as  thou 
knowest,  I  thought  it  time  to  send  for  my  mother  and  for 
thee." 

THE  WORDS  OF  HILDELITH. 

THESE  words  of  Oswald,  my  brother,  I  have  writ- 
ten.    I  have  few  of  my  own  to  add. 

"  Many  years  after  Oswald  left  us  on  the  banks  of  the 
Tyne  we  looked  for  tidings  of  him,  and  at  last  they  came. 
He  sent  a  messenger  to  bid  us  follow  him  into  the  far-off 
Saxon  forests,  and  gladly  we  went. 

"  It  was  a  joyful  day,  when,  after  many  perilous  wan- 
derings through  Friesia.nd  (where  Willibrord,  our  coun- 
tryman, had  been  labouring  so  long,  and  yet  many  of  the 
people  remained  heathen,)  and  the  land  of  the  Rhine ; 
after  seeing  the  spot  where  the  bodies  of  our  countrymen, 
the  martyred  Hewalds,  had  been  thrown  into  the  river, 
now  marked  by  the  blackened  ruins  of  the  village  where 
their  murderers  had  lived  j  after  wandering  among  many 
heathen  tribes  beyond,  we  at  length  reached  the  Chris- 
tian settlement,  deep  in  the  Thuringian  forest,  where  my 
brother  had  built  cells  for  himself  and  for  us. 

"  The  simple  people  showed  us  no  little  kindness,  wel- 
coming and  honouring  us  like  beings  from  a  better  world, 
so  wonderful  did  the  few  arts  we  possessed  seem  in  their 
eyes.  There  we  spent  'many  happy  years,  teaching  the 
women  how  to  order  their  homes,  and  the  young  maidens 
to  spin  and  sew,  and  chant  the  Christian  hymns,  and 
some  of  them  to  read  in  their  native  tongue,  which  was 
closely  allied  to  our  own  :  as  Oswald  had  taught  the  men 
to  till  the  ground  and  clear  the  forest. 


198  THE  EARLY  DAWK 

"  From  time  to  time  wonderful  tidings  reached  us  of 
the  success  of  the  preaching  of  our  countryman,  the  great 
Archbishop  Boniface,  known  to  Oswald  of  old  as  Win- 
fried  of  Crediton.  Tribe  after  tribe  received  Christian 
baptism  from  him  and  his  monks,  thousands  and  ten  of  thou- 
sands were  added  to  the  Church.  Bishopric  after  bishop- 
ric was  founded  where  all  had  been  heathenism.  Abbeys 
and  towns  of  civilized  men  arose  where  all  had  been  for- 
est and  wilderness  ;  until  our  Christian  village,  which  had 
been  an  outpost  in  the  furthest  haunts  of  the  missionary 
field,  became  surrounded  by  many  Christian  tribes.  And 
not  far  from  us  arose  the  abbey  and  the  city  of  Erfurt, 
the  seat  of  the  bishopric  of  Thuringia. 

"Some,  indeed,  of  the  earlier  missionaries,  Irish  and 
Scottish,  scattered  here  and  there  in  lonely  places,  thought 
Archbishop  Boniface  too  ambitious  and  desirous  of  sub- 
jecting all  to  himself ;  and  some  contended  against  the 
strict  subordination  which  he  enforced  to  the  See  of 
Rome,  and  also  against  the  celibacy  which  he  insisted 
on,  not  only  for  the  monks,  but  for  the  secular  priests. 
To  us  Northumbrian  Saxons,  who  had  derived  our  Chris- 
tianity from  Iona,  the  claims  of  Rome  to  universal  sover- 
eignty seemed  scarcely  like  the  humility  enjoined  by  our 
Lord  and  manifested  by  Bishop  Aidan  and  his  disciples  ; 
but  Oswald  thought  it  better  not  to  contend.  He  said 
he  knew  not  how  far  it  might  be  God's  will  to  train  the 
nations  into  order,  and  to  unite  them  into  one  visible 
Christendom,  by  appointing  one  visible  head  ;  he  thought 
time  only  could  prove,  by  proving  if  Rome  was  indeed  to 
be  the  holy  place,  inhabited  by  holy  men,  which  should 
be  a  spring  of  holy  influences  to  the  world. 

"  At  all  events  he  felt  his  work  was  elsewhere.  One 
day  he  came  to  us  with  the  calm  determination  on  his 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  199 

face  which  we  knew  it  was  in  vain  to  oppose,  and  told  us 
this  village  had  become  too  much  of  a  home  for  one  who 
had  vowed  himself  to  live  as  a  pilgrim  and  a  stranger, 
and  to  carry  the  standard  of  the  King  on  and  on  into  the 
unconquered  wilderness. 

"  Seven  days  the  whole  community  set  apart  for  fasting 
and  prayer,  and  then  a  new  abbot  was  appointed  ;  and 
Oswald  with  three  of  the  brethren,  departed  into  the  for- 
ests to  the  north  and  west.  Such  partings  were  hard. 
The  peril  was  so  certain,  and  the  chance  of  ever  seeing 
or  hearing  of  one  another  more  so  uncertain.  But  our 
mother  said, — 

" '  I  have  prayed  God  night  and  day  my  children  might 
be  his  servants,  and  it  is  not  for  me  to  choose  the  service.' 
Months  and  years  passed  away.  Tidings  came  to  us 
from  the  south,  and  west,  and  east :  letters  and  holy  medi- 
tations from  Bede,  the  learned  monk  at  Jarrow  ;  com- 
mands from  Rome  ;  tidings  of  the  defeat  of  the  Saracens 
by  the  Frankish  general  Charles  Martel  near  Tours, 
stemming  the  great  tide  of  infidel  invasion  from  over- 
flowing Christendom.  But  no  tidings  from  that  dark 
and  heathen  north  where  our  Oswald  was  wandering! 
~No  tidings  at  all  through  all  those  years  ;  until  two  stran- 
gers came  one  evening  to  the  abbey  gate  leading  a  crip  • 
pled,  blind  old  man. 

"  And  that  was  Oswald ! 

"  Soon  afterwards  we  were  required  to  return  to  Eng- 
land with  some  yoang  converts,  who  were  to  receive  in- 
struction of  the  holy  Bede  at  Jarrow.  And  here  we  have 
dwelt  ever  since. 

"Sight  and  strength  gone!  and  these  two  converts 
gained !  And,  as  far  as  we  could  see,  that  was  all  the 
fruit  of  those  long  years  of  suffering  and  toil.    His  com- 


200  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WK 

panions  had  been  murdered,  and  he  himself  blinded  by 
the  heathen.  As  far  as  we  could  see !  But  who  expects 
to  see  foundations  ?  and  what  church  is  securely  founded 
without  the  bodies  of  martyrs  being  laid  beneath  it  ? 

u  Without  martyrs,  whose  names  are  hidden,  there 
would  be  no  archbishops  ;  and  perchance,  hereafter,  we 
shall  find  our  Oswald's  crown  not  among  the  meanest. 

"  But  our  Lord  will  judge  rightly  ;  and  perchance  in 
heaven  I  shall  be  so  much  better  than  I  am  tjiat  it  will 
please  me  as  much  to  see  Boniface  have  the  higher  place 
as  Oswald.  To  him  I  well  believe  it  would  be  the  same 
now.  But  he  is  better  and  nobler  than  any  one  I  ever 
knew.  I  used  to  love  to  see  the  glow  of  joy  that  came 
over  his  face  when  he  heard  of'  the  triumphs  of  the  cross 
through  Germany ;  how  bishopric  after  bishopric  was 
founded  in  Hesse,  and  Friesland,  and  Bavaria,  and  Thur- 
ingia,  and  even  in  Russia  ;  and  everywhere  the  name  of  the 
English  Boniface  was  lauded  as  the  apostle  of  all  the 
land. 

"  Only  once  I  heard  him  utter  a  word  approaching  a 
murmur,  and  that  was  when  we  heard  how,  after  that  life 
of  noble  and  successful  effort  in  Germany,  Boniface  in 
his  old  age  had  left  his  prosperous  mission  and  his  archi- 
episcopal  honours  to  return  to  the  heathen  Frisons  among 
whom  his  missionary  work  had  begun,  and  many  of  whom 
still  remained  heathen,  and  there  had  joyfully  met  the 
martyr's  death.  When  he  heard  this,  Oswald  lifted  up 
his  sightless  eyes  to  heaven,  and  said, — 

" '  If  Thou  hadst  only  suffered  me  to  die  for  Thee,  me 
who  can  serve  Thee  so  little  here!  If  my  crippled  life 
could  have  been  taken  instead  of  his !' 

"  But  soon  after  the  children  of  the  choir  came  to  re- 
ceive instruction  as  usual  from  him.    And  among  them 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS.  201 

were  two  boys  from  Thuringia.  I  sat  by  him  as  he 
taught  (as  was  permitted  me),  to  point  out  the  notes,  and 
as  he  laid  his  hand  softly  on  the  heads  of  those  German 
lads,  he  smiled  and  said, — 

" '  Soon  you  will*return  to  your  people,  and  in  Thurin- 
gia the  praises  of  Christ  my  Lord  will  be  sung  a  little 
better  for  the  lessons  of  old  blind  Oswald.  My  Master 
has  need  of  me  on  earth  yet.'  And  as  I  led  him  back  to 
the  monastery  we  passed  Bede,  whose  learning  is  the 
light  of  England  and  the  admiration  of  Europe,  quietly 
digging  in  the  herb  garden,  like  any  other  monk  ;  and  I 
felt  comforted  for  my  brother,  remembering  that  obedi- 
ence is  the  only  service  men  or  angels  can  render  God, 
and  the  lowliest  obedience  is  the  highest  service. 

"  The  example  of  Bede  did  not  shine  before  us  on  earth 
long  after  this.  The  letter  of  his  pupil  Cuthbert  to  his 
school-fellow  Cuthwin,  made  known  to  all  who  honoured 
him  how  the  venerable  Bede  died,  and  what  the  Church 
has  lost  in  him.     Part  of  it  I  copy  : 

" '  He,  our  father  and  master,  was  much  troubled  with 
shortness  of  breath,  yet  without  pain,  before  the  day  of 
our  Lord's  resurrection,  that  is,  about  a  fortnight ;  and 
thus  he  afterwards  passed  his  life,  cheerful  and  rejoicing, 
giving  thanks  to  Almighty  God  every  day  and  night, 
nay,  every  hour,  till  the  day  of  our  Lord's  ascension, 
that  is,  the  seventh  before  the  kalends  of  June  (May 
24th),  and  daily  read  lessons  to  us  his  disciples,  and 
whatever  remained  of  the  day  he  spent  in  singing  psalms. 
He  also  passed  all  the  night  awake  in  joy  and  thanks- 
giving, unless  a  short  sleep  prevented  it ;  in  which  case 
he  no  sooner  woke  than  he  presently  repeated  his  wonted 
exercises,  and  ceased  not  to  give  thanks  to  God  with 
uplifted  hands.  I  declare  with  truth  that  I  have  never 
9* 


202  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

seen  with  my  eyes,  nor  heard  with  my  ears,  any  man  so 
earnest  in  giving  thanks  to  the  living  God. 

" '  0  truly  happy  man !  He  chanted  the  sentence  of 
St.  Paul  the  apostle,  "  It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  living  God,"  and  "much  more  out  of 
Holy  Writ ;  wherein  also  he  admonished  us  to  think  of 
our  last  hour,  and  to  shake  off  the  sleep  of  the  soul. 
And  being  learned  in  our  poetry,  he  said  some  things 
also  in  our  tongue  concerning  the  departure  of  the  soul. 
He  also  sang  antiphons  according  to  our  custom  and  his 
own,  one  of  which  was,  "  0  glorious  king,  Lord  of  all 
power,  who  triumphing  this  day  didst  ascend  above  all 
the  heavens,  do  not  forsake  us  orphans,  but  send  down 
on  us  the  spirit  of  truth  which  was  promised  to  us  by 
the  Father.    Halleluiah !" 

" \  And  when  he  came  to  that  word,  "  Forsake  us  not," 
he  burst  into  tears  and  wept  much,  and  an  hour  after- 
wards he  began  to  repeat  what  he  had  commenced,  and 
we  hearing  it  mourned  with  him.  By  turns  we  read, 
and  by  turns  we  wept ;  nay,  we  wept  always  while  we 
read.  In  such  joy  we  passed  the  days  of  Lent  till  the 
aforesaid  day,  and  he  rejoiced  much  and  gave  God 
thanks  because  he  had  been  counted  worthy  to  be  so 
weakened.  He  often  repeated  that  "  God  scourgeth 
every  son  whom  he  receiveth  f  as  also  this  sentence 
from  St.  Ambrose, — "I  have  not  lived  so  as  to  be 
ashamed  to  live  among  you ;  nor  do  I  fear  to  die,  be- 
cause we  have  a  gracious  God."  During  these  days  he 
laboured  to  compose  two  works  well  worthy  to  be  re- 
membered, besides  the  lessons  we  had  from  him,  and 
the  singing  of  psalms, — namely,  he  translated  the  Gos- 
pel of  St.  John  as  far  as  the  words,  "  But  what  are 
these  among  so  many?"  (St.  John  vi.  9,)  into  our  own 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS. 


203 


tongue,  for  the  benefit  of  the  church ;  also  some  collec- 
tions out  of  the  Notes  of  Bishop  Isidore,  saying,  "  I 
will  not  have  my  pupils  read  a  falsehood,  nor  labour 
therein  without  profit  after  my  death."  When  the 
Tuesday  before  the  Ascension  of  our  Lord  came,  he  be- 
gan to  suffer  still  more  in  his  breath,  and  a  small  swell- 
ing appeared  in  his  feet ;  but  he  passed  all  that  day, 
and  dictated  cheerfully,  saying  now  and  then,  among 
other  things,  "  Go  on  quickly ;  I  know  not  how  long  I 
shall  hold  out,  and  whether  my  Maker  will  not  soon 
take  me  away."  But  to  us  he  seemed  very  well  to  know 
the  time  cf  his  departure,  and  so  he  spent  the  night 
awake  in  thanksgiving ;  and  when  the  morning  ap- 
peared— that  is,  Wednesday — he  ordered  us  to  write 
with  all  speed  what  he  had  begun ;  and  this  done,  we 
walked  till  the  third  hour  with  the  relics  of  saints,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom  of  that  day.  There  was  one  of 
us  with  him,  who  said  to  him,  "  Dear  master,  there  is 
still  one  chapter  wanting.  Do  you  think  it  troublesome 
to  be  asked  any  more  questions?"  He  answered,  "It 
is  no  trouble.  Take  your  pen,  make  ready,  and  write 
fast ;"  which  he  did.  But  at  the  ninth  hour-  he  said  to 
me,  "  I  have  some  articles  of  value  in  my  chest,  such  as 
pepper,  napkins,  and  incense.  Run  quickly  and  bring 
the  priests  of  our  monastery  to  me,  that  I  may  distribute 
among  them  the  gifts  which  God  has  bestowed  on  me. 
The  rich  in  this  world  are  bent  on  giving  gold  and  silver 
and  other  precious  things  ;  but  I,  in  love,  would  joyfully 
give  my  brothers  what  God  has  given  unto  me."  He 
spoke  to  every  one  of  them,  admonishing  and  entreating 
them  that  they  would  carefully  say  masses  and  prayers 
for  him,  which  they  readily  promised ;  but  they  all 
mourned  and  wept,  chiefly  because  he  said  that  "  in  this 


204  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WK 

world  they  should  see  his  face  no  more."  They  rejoiced 
for  that  he  said  "  It  is  time  that  I  return  to  Him  who  has 
formed  me  out  of  nothing.  I  have  lived  long.  My  mer- 
ciful Judge  well  foresaw  my  life  for  me.  The  time  of  my 
dissolution  draweth  nigh  ;  for  I  desire  to  depart,  and  to 
be  with  Christ."  Having  said  much  more,  he  passed  the 
day  joyfully  till  the  evening,  when  the  boy  above  men- 
tioned said,  "Dear  master,  there  is  yet  one  sentence 
not  written."  He  answered,  "Write  quickly."  Soon 
after,  the  boy  said,  "  The  sentence  is  now  written."  He 
replied,  "It  is  well.  You  have  said  the  truth.  It  is 
ended.  Take  my  head  in  your  hands,  for  it  is  a  great 
satisfaction  to  me  to  sit  facing  my  holy  place  where  I  was 
wont  to  pray,  that,  thus  sitting,  I  may  call  on  my  Father." 
And  thus,  on  the  pavement  of  his  little  cell,  singing, 
"  Glory  be  to  the  Father,  and  to  the  Son,  and  to  the  Holy 
Ghost,"  when  he  had  named  the  Holy  Ghost,  he  breathed 
his  last,  and  so  departed  to  the  heavenly  kingdom.  All 
who  were  present  at  the  death  of  the  blessed  father  said 
that  they  had  never  seen  any  other  person  expire  with  so 
much  devotion  and  in  so  tranquil  a  frame  of  mind ;  for,  as 
you  have  heard,  as  long  as  the  soul  animated  the  body,  he 
never  ceased,  with  uplifted  hands,  to  give  thanks  to  the 
true  and  living  God. 

" !  His  remains  are  laid  under  the  south  porch  of  the 
church  where  he  used  to  celebrate  the  Holy  Eucharist, 
to  chant,  and  to  preach. 

"'Through  England,  in  every  school  and  monastery, 
our  English  youth  benefit  by  his  patient  labours,  his 
translations  of  the  Holy  Scriptures,  his  hymns  and  hom- 
ilies, and  his  selections  from  the  writings  of  good  and 
wise  men  of  old.' 

"  Thus  throughout  the  lands  and  throughout  the  ages 


SAXON  MINSTERS  AND  MISSIONS. 


205 


the  names  of  Boniface,  the  great  English  missionary  and 
martyr,  and  Bede,  the  great  English  teacher,  will  be  hon- 
oured as  long  as  the  Church  or  the  world  shall  last ; 
whilst  a  thousand  names  of  missionaries  perhaps  as  faith- 
ful, martyrs  as  devoted,  scholars  as  patient,  perish  from 
the  memory  of  men. 

"But  to  me  there  is  no  longer  anything  sad  in  the 
thought,  even  with  regard  to  Oswald.  God  gives  him 
those  special  joys  which  are  linked  to  each  especial  sor- 
row, and  to  it  alone.  "JVe  all  delight  in  the  wondrous 
music  he  brings  out  of  the  great  church  organ ;  but  to 
him  I  know  it  unseals  visions  of  glory  and  beauty  hidden 
from  us,  and  I  think  he  hears  tones  in  its  melodies  which 
recall  to  him  dear  voices  we  never  heard,  but  trust  to 
hear  one  day  in  an  immortal  song  of  lofty  praise.  To  him 
those  golden  pipes  are  a  '  tower  of  sweet  sound/  a  ravish- 
ing treasury  of  delight,  the  very  steps  leading  to  the  gates 
of  the  Golden  City  of  light  on  high. 

"  And  to  me  it  is  a  great  joy  to  think  that  the  name  of 
every  faithful  servant  of  Christ  whom  men  honour  in 
every  age  is  but  one  of  a  roll  of  countless  such  names 
which  men  know  not,  but  which  God  has  written  down 
in  his  Book  of  Life,  to  shine  in  the  light  of  His  smile  now 
and  hereafter,  to  be  uttered  by  His  lips,  and  to  thrill  the 
heart  of  the  whole  Church  with  the  memory  of  long-for- 
gotten works  of  love.  For  in  the  Christian  race  all  pa- 
tient runners  win,  and  in  the  Christian  battle  all  who 
endure  to  the  end  are  victors.  And  it  seems  to  me  a 
glorious  thing  to  be  the  smallest  wave  in  the  tide  of 
blessing  which  has  flowed  back  on  heathen  Germany,  the 
ancient  fatherland  of  our  fathers,  through  the  labours  of 
Christian  men  and  women  from  this  Saxon  England, 
which  is  the  country  of  us,  their  children." 


VI. 

Alfred  the  Truth-Teller. 


SCENES   FROM   THE   LIFETIME   OF 
ENGLAND'S  DARLING. 


VI 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER. 


NE  evening  in  the  summer  of  852  several  of  the 
monks  of  the  ancient  Abbey  of  Lindisfarne 
were  gathered  in  the  abbey  burial-ground  on 
Holy  Island,  eagerly  listening  to  Bertric,  a 
young  thane  who  had  just  arrived  among  them  from  the 
south  of  England,  and  was  telling  them  his  story  of  blood- 
shed and  wrong. 

"  We  were  living  in  peace,"  he  said,  "  on  my  father's 
lands,  on  the  range  of  hills  which  rise  on  the  north  of 
the  Thames.  The  Danish-men  had  been  defeated  a  short 
time  before  at  Wembury  in  Devonshire,  and  also  by  king 
Athelstan  and  Elchere  the  ealdorman  in  a  battle  fought 
on  ship-board  where  a  great  number  of  the  enemy  were 
slain,  and  nine  of  their  ships  were  taken.  It  was  true 
that  for  the  first  time  the  heathen  men  had  stayed 
through  the  winter  in  our  country,  on  the  Isle  of  Thanet. 
But  many  among  us  drew  hope  from  this.     Had  not  our 

(209) 


2io  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

forefathers,  tPie  elders  said,  once  been  themselves  wild 
heathen  sea  rovers  such  as  these  ?  and  if  these  wild  men 
could  be  brought  to  dwell  with  their  wives  and  children 
in  some  corners  of  the  land,  might  they  not  be  dealt  with 
at  last  like  hunan  beings,  instead  of  mere  beasts  of 
prey  swooping  on  their  plunder  and  then  flying  off  with 
it  ?  Might  not  some  portion  of  the  country  be  cheaply 
sacrificed  to  save  the  rest  from  plunder  ?  So  said  some 
of  the  older  and  more  peacable  men.  Meanwhile  the 
more  familiar  sight  of  the  dreaded  marauders  seemed  to 
rob  them  of  half  their  terrors  ;  and  armies  were  rapidly 
collecting  among  the  Mercians  and  West  Saxons  to  de- 
fend the  coasts.  Thus  we  dwelt  securely  on  the  hill-side 
by  the  Thames.  My  father's  house  was  on  the  site  of 
what  was  said  to  be  an  old  Roman  camp,  commanding  a 
wide  view  over  forest  and .  meadow,  and  slopes  of  hills 
clothed  with  cornfields  and  vineyards,  to  the  banks  of 
the  river  where  the  city  of  London  rose  around  the 
church- tower  of  St.  Paul's.  It  was  a  range  of  wooden 
buildings  guarded  by  a  moat  which  had  encircled  the 
old  camp.  We  were  a  family  of  six  little  children.  I 
was  the  eldest,  and  my  eldest  sister  Hilda  was  a  nun  in 
an  abbey  at  Canterbury. 

"  One  evening  my  father  and  I  had  been  watering  the 
cattle  in  one  of  the  range  of  forest-pools  which  lay  in 
the  valley  below  our  house,  and  were  driving  them  up 
to  the  hill  to  house  them  in  the  sheds  within  the  moat, 
when,  on  reaching  the  summit  of  the  hill,  we  saw  a  num- 
ber of  masts  advancing  up  the  valley  of  the  Thames.  As 
we  looked,  more  and  more  came  into  sight,  until  we 
could  count  them  by  hundreds.  At  the  door  of  the  house 
my  mother  met  us-  with  terror  in  her  face.  '  Have  you  seen 
them  V  she  said.     My  father  only  bowed  his  head,  and 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  211 

then  we  went  to  the  highest  point  and  watched  them  in 
silence.  It  was  a  moving  forest  of  masts  which  seemed 
countless. 

"  As  we  looked,  a  thrall  came  galloping  up  the  hill  to- 
ward us. 

"  '  The  heathen  men  are  upon  us!'  he  said,  breathlessly. 
'  They  pause  nowhere,  but  are  making  straight  for  Lon- 
don to  sack  the  city.  There  are  three  hundred  and  fifty 
ships  full  of  armed  men.' 

"  All  the  men  about  the  farm  were  set  to  work  at  once 
to  strengthen  the  stockade  around  the  moat  as  best  we 
could.  My  father  hoped  it  might  enable  us  to  withstand 
an  attack  from  any  stray  band  of  plunderers.  And 
having  done  this,  he  called  the  household  to  prayer.  We 
repeated  after  him  the  Our  Father,  and  such  Saxon  col- 
lects as  he  knew,  and  then  we  went  out  to  listen  if  any 
sound  of  the  enemy  could  be  heard.  Alas !  we  heard 
too  much.  Through  the  night  air  came  first  the  solemn 
tolling  of  the  bells  of  St.  Paul's,  and  then  the  clashing 
of  the  alarm-peal,  sounded  in  the  vain  hope  of  arousing 
some  Saxon  force  within  reach.  It  was  in  vain.  Flames 
began  to  rise  through  the  darkness,  until  the  valley,  and 
hills,  and  sky  glowed  with  one  terrible  glare.  And  then 
the  bells  were  silent.  The  flames  leaped  high  above  the 
church  tower,  and  through  the  silence  the  south  wind 
bore  us  the  death- wail  of  the  stormed  and  sacked  city. 

"The  next  day  fugitives  reached  us  with  details  of 
the  massacre,  and  with  the  further  tidings  that  when  the 
work  of  plunder  and  slaughter  was  accomplished  in 
London  it  was  rumoured  that  the  enemy  would  march 
straight  on  Canterbury  and  do  the  same  work  of  destruc- 
tion there. 

"  It  was  decided  that  I  sjiould  go  at  once  with  a  band 


212  THE  EABLY  DAWK 

of  faithful  men,  well  armed,  to  bring  my  sister  Hilda 
home  from  Canterbury,  while  my  father  remained  to  pro- 
tect the  house.  Merciless  as  the  Danish-men  are  to  all, 
against  monks  and  nuns  they  deal  out  a  double  measure 
of  ferocity,  and  none  of  us  could  rest  until  we  knew  Hilda 
rescued  from  the  threatened  abbey. 

"  I  went  (Heaven  knows)  as  quickly  as  I  could,  taking 
not  an  hour's  rest  that  could  be  spared ;  but  I  had  to 
make  a  considerable  circuit,  on  reaching  Canterbury,  to 
avoid  the  Danish  forces  which  were  already  moving. 
And  when  at  last  the  ancient  sacred  city  of  our  Church 
came  in  sight,  it  was  too  plain  our  journey  had  been  in 
vain.  From  the  blackened  ruins  of  the  city,  as  we  silently 
approached  it,  came  the  yells  of  the-  heathen  and  the 
hopeless  cries  of  the  suffering  and  the  dying.  The 
enemy  was  in  full  possession.  And  too  soon  the  crowds 
of  fugitives  whom  we  met  flying  from  the  slaughter,  told 
us  the  fate  of  the  abbey  where  my  sister  had  been.  The 
sacred  buildings  lay  a  heap  of  smouldering  ruins,  and  for 
such  of  the  inmates  as  survived  the  fire  there  remained 
no  earthly  refuge. 

"  One  old  monk  only,  who  had  escaped,  gave  me  the 
faintest  hope.  He  said  that  a  few  days  before,  some  of 
the  sisters  had  been  removed  to  an  abbey  belonging  to 
the  same  congregation  in  the  north  of  England.  With 
this  dim  outlet  from  despair  as  all  the  result  of  our 
journey,  we  hastened  back  to  defend  those  who  were  left 
at  home.  We  arrived  to  find  no  home  to  defend,  and 
none  to  tell  how  it  perished,  save  one  old  man  whom  the 
Danes  had  blinded  and  then  left  in  mockery  to  die.  One 
consolation  only  he  gave  me.  My  mother  and  the  little 
ones  had  fallen  beneath  the  Danish  arrows  before  the 
house  was  taken :   and  the  charred  and  blood-stained 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  213 

ruins  of  my  father's  homestead  were  at  least  the  grave 
of  those  who  had  died  an  honourable  death. 

"  The  vineyards  and  cornfields  on  the  southern  slopes 
towards  the  Thames  were  blackened  with  fire  and  trod- 
den down  by  the  cattle  which  the  enemy  had  driven  off. 
The  dearest  object  now  left  to  me  on  earth,  was  that 
faint  hope  of  recovering  my  sister  Hilda,  and  with  this 
purpose  I  have  come  northward  through  Mercia  along 
the  shores  of  East  Anglia  and  Northumbria  even  to  this 
island.  Everywhere  I  have  found  the  traces  of  the 
heathen  men  in  ruined  and  desolate  cities,  heaps  of  dust 
and  ashes  marking  the  sites  of  abbeys  and  the  graves  of 
the  monks.  But  of  the  nuns  of  Canterbury  I  have  found 
no  trace,  and  here,  alas !  ye  tell  me  the  same  tale." 

A  compassionate  silence  followed  Bertric's  narrative, 
and  then  he  resumed  : 

"Some  special  grace  must  have  guarded  this  island 
brotherhood,  that  ye  should  be  thus  spared,  dwelling  as 
ye  do  in  the  very  jaws  of  danger,  on  the  borders  of  the 
sea-king's  kingdom." 

"  Our  congregation  has  not  always  thus  been  spared, 
my  son/'  said  an  aged  monk.  "  Sixty  years  ago,  while 
all  the  rest  of  the  land  was  tranquil,  fearing  nothing, 
the  storm  burst  on  our  island  first  of  all.  One  early 
dawn  in  792,  we  wondered  to  see  a  number  of  strange 
sails  on  the  eastern  horizon.  From  what  shores  they 
came  we  knew  not,  nor  with  what  purpose.  Not  forty 
years  before,  Boniface,  after  spreading  the  light  of  the 
faith  from  this  happy  land  throughout  Old  Saxony,  had 
been  slain  among  the  heathens  of  Friesland  but  since 
then  we  had  learned  that  the  faith  for  which  he  died 
had  been  still  triumphing,  and  that  the  renowned  em- 
peror Charlemagne  had  subdued  the  heathen  nations  to 


214 


THE  EAIIL  Y  DA  WK 


his  Christian  sceptre.  We  watched  the  approach  of  this 
strange  fleet,  therefore,  with  curiosity,  but  without  fear, 
and  wondered  to  see  the  raven-standard  unfurled,  and  to 
hear  the  fierce  shouts  of  the  seamen  as  they  leapt  armed 
on  the  shore.  But  before  the  next  dawn  the  church  of 
Bishop  Aidan  was  burnt  to  the  ground,  the  dwellings 
were  destroyed,  and  all  the  brethren,  save  myself  and  a 
few  who  fled  for  life  across  the  shallows  to  the  mainland, 
lay  dead  and  dying  among  the  ruins.  From  that  day 
to  this  the  land  has  had  no  rest ;  and  most  of  all,  the 
fury  of  these  robbers  seems  turned  against  the  houses 
of  God." 

"  That  I  saw  everywhere,"  said  Bertric.  "  Why  should 
this  be?" 

"  No  doubt,"  said  the  aged  monk,  "  it  is  because  the 
devil  hates  most  the  servants  of  Christ.  But  I  have 
heard  also  that  the  heathen  sometimes,  as  they  tortured 
the  priests  and  monks,  mocked  them  with  the  name  of 
Charlemagne,  and  bid  them  lay  their  cause  before  the 
great  emperor,  who  massacred  thousands  of  their  heathen 
kindred  in  Old  Saxony.  They  do  say  that  multitudes 
of  the  heathen  Saxons  were  slain  by  the  emperor's  sol- 
diers, and  that  others  were  given  the  choice  of  baptism 
or  death.  Some  of  these  Danes  are  fugitives,  they  say, 
from  that  slaughter,  and  come  to  us  not  merely  as  plun- 
derers, but  as  avengers  of  blood.  And  their  chief  ven- 
geance, therefore,  is  against  the  monks." 

"  But  why  avenge  the  blood  shed  by  Charlemagne  on 
us  ?"  asked  Bertric.  "  Why  should  we  suffer  for  the  sins 
of  the  Franks  ?" 

"  Nay,  my  son,"  said  tl  e  old  monk,  "  we  who  suffer 
have  also  sinned." 

"  True,"  said  one  and  another  of  the  brethren,  "  the 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER. 


215 


sins  of  the  land  have  indeed  called  for  vengeance.  In 
what  province  have  not  kings  and  nobles  seized  the  rev- 
enues and  lands  of  the  abbeys  ?"  And  instance  after  in- 
stance of  such  spoliation  was  given. 

"  The  world  seems  governed  in  a  strange  way,"  said 
Bertric,  bitterly.  "  Charlemagne  slaughters  the  heathen 
Saxons,  and  the  heathen  Danes  wreak  vengeance  on  us 
who  never  heard  of  these  massacres.  Kings  and  nobles 
rob  the  monks ;  and  as  a  punishment  the  same  monks  are 
further  robbed  and  murdered  by  the  heathen." 

"  Brethren,"  said  the  old  monk,  "  let  us  justify  God  and 
humble  ourselves.  It  was  not  in  the  days  of  the  holy 
Aiden,  nor  of  those  of  Bede  and  Boniface,  or  of  the  good 
Archbishops  Egbert  and  Albert  of  York,  that  these 
troubles  came.  Have  there  been  no  sins  in  the  abbeys 
to  draw  down  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  ?  If  we  made 
the  vows  of  poverty  and  chastity  a  cloak  for  ease  and 
sloth  and  sin,  is  it  any  wonder  that  God  should  bring  us 
back  to  our  vows,  though  it  be  with  fire  and  sword  ?" 

The  assembly  gradually  dispersed  at  these  words,  until 
Bertric  and  the  old  monk  were  left  alone. 

"  Father,"  said  the  young  man,  passionately,  •  tell  me 
what  I  shall  do,  and  what  I  shall  believe  ;  for  you  seem 
still .  to  retain  your  trust  in  God,  although  you  see  the 
world  falling  into  ruins  around  you." 

"  My  son,"  was  the  reply,  "  the  ruin  brought  by  the 
Danes  is  not  the  first  ruin  I  have  seen,  nor  the  worst. 
I  have  seen  abbeys  founded  by  holy  men  for  the  service 
of  God  turned  into  palaces  where  men  vowed  to  poverty 
lived  in  luxury  and  idleness.  I  have  heard  sounds  of 
traffic  and  revelry  in  halls  which  were  built  to  be  houses 
of  prayer.  And  the  blackened  walls  of  many  of  the 
abbeys  which  entomb  their  slaughtered   inmates  seem 


2 1 6  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

to  me  less  terrible  than  the  fair  edifices  where  men's 
souls  are  entombed,  as  in  whited  sepulchres,  in  hypocrisy 
and  sin." 

"  But  all  were  surely  not  thus  fallen,"  said  Bertric ; 
"and  the  Danish  armies  make  no  distinction  in  their 
vengeance." 

"  God  makes  the  distinction,  my  son,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  Hastxthou  forgotten  that  death  is  not  an  exit  only,  but 
an  entrance-gate,  and  a  gate  from  which  issues  more  than 
one  path?" 

Bertric  was  silent,  and  the  old  monk  continued  ten- 
derly : 

"  When  the  flames  consumed  thy  father's  house,  were 
there  no  holy  angels  present  to  bear  the  innocent  babes 
and  the  souls  of  those  who  cried  to  God  in  prayer,  safely 
into  the  paradise  of  God  ?" 

For  the  first  time  the  bitter  calm  passed  from  the 
young  man's  voice,  and  in  trembling  tones  he  said  : 

"  The  poor  will  wait  at  the  gates  of  our  home  no  more, 
to  receive  the  alms  from  my  mother's  hand!"  Then, 
hiding  his  face,  he  gave  way  to  an  uncontrollable  agony 
of  weeping. 

The  old  man  sat  still  beside  him,  and  prayed  silently. 
He  knew  that  such  tears  are  Heaven's  best  balm  for  such 
griefs. 

At  length  Bertric  composed  himself,  and  said  : 

"  Father,  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  have  no  vocation  for  such 
a  life  as  yours.  Since  I  stood  by  the  ruins  of  my  home  I 
have  had  but  one  desire — a  fierce  longing  to  avenge  my 
kindred  on  the  Danes." 

"  As  they  avenged  the  massacres  of  Charlemagne  on 
thy  kindred !"  said  the  old  man,  quietly. 

"  Do  not  speak  to  me  of  forgiving  my  enemies,"  ex- 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH- TELLER.  217 

claimed  Bertric,  vehemently.  "  I  know  it  is  in  our  Lord's 
sermon  on  the  mount ;  but  he  could  never  have  meant, 
1  See  the  powerful  and  wicked  cruelly  slay  and  torture 
the  just  and  helpless,  and  stand  by  and  pray  that  they 
may  be  forgiven.' " 

"  If  I  were  young  again,"  said  the  old  monk,  "  I  would 
deem  the  sword  and  bow  more  befitting  accoutrements 
than  the  cowl  and  the  pen  for  these  days.  I  would  seek 
the  best  and  wisest  prince  in  the  land,  and  join  myself  to 
him,  to  serve  him  in  defending  the  helpless  people  on  our 
coasts  from  these  marauders.  I  deem  such  a  life  would 
be  nobler  than  to  say  any  number  of  prayers,  or  accom- 
plish any  mortifications  for  my  own  spiritual  glory  in  an 
abbey.  But  I  may  counsel  thee  wrong.  We  know  best 
the  dangers  of  the  paths  we  have  trodden." 

The  next  morning,  when  Bertric  came  out  in  the  early 
dawn,  he  found  the  old  monk  awaiting  him  on  the  burial- 
ground. 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  "  I  watched  late  last  night,  thinking 
of  thee,  until  I  fell  asleep  and  had  a  strange  dream.  I 
thought  the  holy  Bishop  Aidan  himself  appeared  to  me, 
with  Saint  Cuthbert,  robed  like  the  blessed,  in  garments 
white  as  the  light.  And  he  looked  reproachfully  at  me, 
and  said  :  *  Who  art  thou,  to  bear  the  sword  of  vengeance 
against  those  heathens  of  the  north  ?  What  wouldst  thou 
nave  been  if  God  had  sent  me  to  thy  forefathers  with  the 
sword  instead  of  with  the  message  of  peace  ?'  I  would  have 
justified  myself,  but  with  the  effort  I  awoke  and  came  out 
hither  to  St.  Cuthbert's  tomb,  to  keep  my  vigils  better, 
and  to  wait  for  thee." 

"What  is  the  interpretation  of  the  dream,  father?" 
said  the  young  man. 

"  I  know  not  even  if  it  was  a  voice  from  heaven,"  said 
10 


2i8  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

the  old  man,  "  and  still  less  if  it  was  a  message  for  thee. 
Yet  I  have  been  thinking  thou  art  but  a  youth  as  yet. 
Might  it  not  benefit  thee,  if  our  abbot  willed  it  so,  to  ac- 
company some  of  our  brotherhood  who  are  bound  on  pil- 
grimage to  Rome,  there  to  learn  what  thou  canst  at  the 
Saxon  school,  and  so  befit  thyself  for  higher  service  at 
the  king's  court  than  thy  youth  might  now  obtain  ?  Thou 
art  not  of  the  kind,  I  trow,  who  have  only  hands  to  offer 
in  service ;  and  those  who  are  to  lead  others  should  be 
before  them  as  well  as  above  them.  Learning  might 
serve  thee  in  the  place  of  thy  lost  lands  and  thy  lacking 
years,  and  give  thee  earlier  the  post  in  which  thou 
mightest  serve  the  people  best." 

"  Thou  dost  not  think,  then,"  said  Bertric,  "  that  the 
saints  meant  me  to  abandon  my  purpose." 

"  I  think  only,"  said  the  old  monk,  "  that  they  would 
have  thee  set  it  before  thee  to  serve  and  defend  thy  Saxon 
people,  and  leave  it  to  God  to  inflict  vengeance  on  the 
Danes.  Remember,  also,  that  if  a  heathen  man  becomes 
a  Christian,  he  is  an  enemy  won  over  to  thy  side  ;  and  a 
foe  reconciled  is  better  than  a  foe  slain." 

The  young  man  acquiesced,  although  with  some  re- 
serve, and  the  next  day  he  set  sail  with  the  pilgrims  for 
Rome  ;  and  when  he  left,  the  old  monk  solemnly  blessed 
him,  and  said : 

*  My  son,  darker  days  yet  may  be  in  store  ;  but  remem- 
ber the  darkest  hour  heralds  the  dawn.  Forget  not  the 
Jewish  proverb,  *  When  the  tale  of  bricks  is  doubled,  then 
Moses  is  sent/     To  prayer  and  patience  no  eause  is  lost." 

On  their  way  they  saw  in  the  distance  a  fleet,  which 
they  took  to  belong  to  the  Danes,  bound  for  the.  Nor- 
wegian coast,  and  considered  themselves  fortunate  in 
escaping. 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER. 


219 


But  in  that  fleet  was  a  young  captive  maiden,  borne 
away  by  the  Jarl  Sidroc  to  be  the  slave  of  his  wife  in 
her  home  on  one  of  the  Norwegian  fiords.  Something  in 
her  had  touched  the  spring  of  pity  which  lies  in  almost 
every  human  heart.  Thus  Hilda  and  Bertric,  the  brother 
and  sister,  passed  each  other  unconsciously  on  the  ocean  ; 
one  to  arm  himself  for  the  conflict  in  Rome,  and  the 
other  to  carry  on  the  conflict  with  other  weapons  in  the 
very  home  of  the  spoilers ;  as  she  told  the  children  of 
the  fierce  pirate  her  simple  stories  of  Mary  of  Nazareth 
and  her  Holy  Babe,  who  of  old  took  the  little  ones  so 
tenderly  in  his  arms  and  blessed  them. 


II. 


THE  pilgrimage  to  Rome  did  its  work  for  Bertric. 
It  gave  him  a  new  confidence  in  the  final  victory 
of  truth  and  right,  to  see  how  the  tombs  of  martyrs  had 
become  the  glory  of  the  city  where  they  had  been  slain, 
and  to  watch  pilgrims  flocking  in  from  those  Gothic 
and  Teutonic  tribes  which  had  overwhelmed  old  im- 
perial Rome,  to  do  homage  at  the  graves  of  the  men 
imperial  Rome  had  doomed  to  ignominious  deaths. 
Moreover,  it  made  him,  an  orphaned  wanderer  from  a 
land  where  heathenism  seemed  once  more  triumphant, 
step  more  firmly,  and  breathe  more  freely,  thus  to  feel 
himself  a  member  of  the  great  community  of  Christen- 
dom which  pagan  Rome  and  pagan  Goth  had  proved  so 
indestructible. 

As  he  knelt  in  the  churches  by  the  tombs  of  King 
Cadwalla,  King  Ina,  and  his  Queen  Ethelberga,  and  re- 
turned at  night  to  the  Saxon  school,  where,  in  the  strange 


220  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

land,  and  among  the  strange  people,  he  was  greeted  by 
the  familiar  accents  of  his  mother  tongue,  the  idea  of  the 
great  central  Holy  City,  where  the  devout  of  all  Chris- 
tendom might  worship  at  one  shrine,  and  the  homeless 
of  all  nations  might  meet  as  in  a  common  home — a  city 
which  should  be  as  a  family  hearth  for  all  Christendom, 
and  a  source  whence  light  should  radiate  throughout  the 
world — took  possession  of  his  heart.  It  had  not  then 
been  proved — as  centuries  afterward  proved  it — that 
any  human  institution  claiming  to  be  the  fountain-head 
of  truth  and  holiness,  cut  off  by  the  very  loftiness  of  that 
claim  from  the  inexhaustible  fountain  of  grace  which  only 
flows  for  the  lowly,  must  stagnate  and  become  a  source 
of  corruption  and  death. 

At  that  time  Rome  had  surely,  in  God's  providence,  a 
great  work  to  do  for  the  nations  of  Europe.  Those  mas- 
sive ruins  of  the  proudest  material  empire  the  world  had 
seen,  now  ruled  over  by  a  priest  whose  whole  power 
rested  on  a  belief,  bore  powerful  witness  to  the  rude 
warrior  tribes  of  the  North  of  a  spiritual  might  before 
which  all  physical  strength  must  bow.  The  Holy  City, 
where  all  the  contending  and  scattered  Latin  and  Celtic 
and  Teutonic  races  worshipped  as  members  of  one  Church, 
ennobled  them,  by  the  force  of  its  central  attraction,  from 
a  conglomeration  of  tribes  into  a  community  of  nations. 
At  Rome,  also,  thoughtful  men  first  learned  to  look  into 
the  great  illuminated  track  of  the  historical  past,  so  as 
to  understand  the  unity  of  the  human  race,  and  the  pro- 
gression of  God's  dealings  with  man.  Turning  from  the 
wild  and  disconnected  legends  of  their  fathers  which 
glittered  above  the  dark  ocean  of  bygone  time,  but 
scarcely  revealed  it,  at  Rome  they  gazed  back  on  the 
long  vista  of  the  four  great  empires,  crossed  and  lit  up 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  221 

at  intervals  by  the  white  light  of  sacred  history,  and 
at  one  point  made  clearer  than  the  scenes  actually 
around  them  by  the  glory  around  the  person  of  the  Son 
of  Man. 

This,  in  her  day,  it  was  given  to  Eome  to  accomplish 
for  Christendom.  How  many  of  the  miseries,  and  sins, 
and  superstitions  of  men  and  of  humanity,  proceed  from 
anachronisms ;  from  putting  in  the  sickle  before  God's 
harvest  is  ripe  ;  from  seeking  to  stunt  the  youth  into  the 
measure  of  the  child  ;  from  seeking  to  galvanize  into  im- 
mortality what  has  done  its  work,  and  is  dead !  When 
will  men  learn  that  a  harvest  gathered  before  God's  hour 
is  come  is  no  harvest,  but  a  devastation ;  that  the  man 
stunted  in  growth  is  no  longer  a  child  but  a  dwarf ;  that 
by  refusing  to  bury  the  dead,  we  render  them  not  im- 
mortal, but  a  source  of  death  to  the  living  ?  Not  until 
all  men  shall  have  learned  to  say,  as  the  second  Man,  the 
Lord  from  heaven,  said  in  his  agony,  "  Not  my  will,  but 
thine  be  done."  And  then  old  things  will  pass  away — 
old  sins,  old  sorrows,  the  old  history,  the  old  world,  the 
old  man — and  all  things  will  become  new. 

But  that  future  history  of  Rome,  which  is  to  us  such  a 
record  of  usurpation  and  corruption,  was  unknown  to 
Bertric  and  the  Saxon  pilgrims  around  him.  And  look- 
ing back  from  the  honoured  graves  of  martyred  apostles, 
he  learned  to  look  forward  with  a  new  hope  for  the  fu- 
ture of  his  country.  But  whence  the  deliverance  could 
come,  as  yet  he  could  not  conjecture.  Saxon  pilgrims 
continued  to  bring  dreadful  tidings  of  the  ravages  of 
the  Danes.  He  longed  to  be  at  home  again,  in  the  hum- 
blest post,  where  he  might  help  to  stem  the  torrent  of 
heathen  invasion.  At  times  he  had  misgivings  as  to 
whether  he  had  any  right  to  remain  away.    The  connec- 


222  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

tion  between  studying  the  Latin  grammar  and  fighting 
the  Northern  pirates  seemed  very  remote.  However,  he 
resolved  to  follow  the  old  monk's  counsel  at  least  for  one 
year. 

Six  months  of  that  year  had  not  passed  when,  in  753, 
Bertric  met,  at  one  of  the  gates  of  Rome,  a  company  of 
horsemen  appareled  as  if  they  were  the  attendants  of  some 
great  house.  As  he  paused  in  the  narrow  street  to  let 
them  pass,  to  his  surprise  he  caught  the  homely  accents 
of  his  own  Saxon  tongue.  His  attention  was  aroused. 
One  of  the  horsemen,  evidently  the  chief  of  the  company, 
carried  before  him  on  the  saddle  a  fair-haired  boy,  four 
or  five  years  old. 

"  Who  is  the  young  prince  whom  you  are  escorting  with 
such  honours  ?"  Bertric  asked  of  one  of  the  attendants. 

"  It  is  Alfred  the  Atheling,  youngest  son  of  Ethelwulf, 
king  of  Wessex." 

A  few  days  afterward  Bertric,  with  all  the  Saxons  in 
Rome,  was  present  at  a  ceremony  in  which  that  child 
bore  the  chief  part. 

Solemnly,  in  an  assembly  of  the  chief  nobles  and  ec- 
clesiastics, Pope  Leo  IV  anointed  the  fair  head  of  the 
Saxon  child  with  the  holy  oil  which  of  old  consecrated 
kings  and  priests  to  their  offices,  and  all  Christians  to 
their  royal  and  princely  calling  in  the  ancient  rites  of 
baptism  and  confirmation,  adopting  him  as  his  own 
spiritual  son. 

A  strange  unconscious  prophecy  lay  hidden  in  that 
ceremony.  Three  elder  brothers  stood  between  that 
child  and  the  throne,  and  half  a  lifetime  of  trial  and  hu- 
miliation between  him  and  his  kingdom.  Yet  a  conse- 
crating hand  was  indeed  upon  that  childish  head.  Un- 
known to  Israel,  the  infant  Moses  was  indeed  there,  the 


ALFRED  TEE  TRUTH-TELLER. 


223 


hero  and  the  lawgiver  who  was  to  break  the  iron  yoke 
of  the  oppressor,  and  to  form  the  divided  multitudes  of 
his  people  into  a  nation. 

And  as  that  evening,  after  listening  to  fresh  tales  of 
Danish  outrage  and  oppression  from  the  young  prince's 
court,  Bertric  said  bitterly  in  his  heart,  "  0  Lord,  how 
long  ?"  he  little  knew  that  in  that  unconscious  child  he 
had  seen  the  answer. 

More  than  twelve  months  passed,  and  once  more  the 
boy  Alfred  appeared  in  Rome ;  but  this  time  it  was  in 
the  company  of  his  father. 

The  Saxon  king  came  to  lay  his  offerings  at  the 
shrines  of  the  apostles  ;  and  to  this  day  the  records  re- 
main of  his  costly  gifts  of  golden  crown  and  chalice  and 
paten,  of  silken  and  embroidered  stoles  and  priestly  vest- 
ments. 

From  King  Ethelwulf  s  company  Bertric  heard  again 
how,  amidst  the  helplessness  of  East  Anglia,  Northumbria, 
and  even  (in  a  great  degree)  of  Mercia,  Wessex  remained 
as  yet  secure  from  Danish  oppression  ;  how  St.  Swithin  and 
St.  Neot,  the  king's  kinsmen,  gave  the  people  examples 
of  austere  sanctity  ;  while  Ealstan,  the  brave  bishop  of 
Sherborne,  was  ever  ready  to  risk  his  life  in  defending 
his  countrymen  against  the  heathen  invader. 

To  King  Ethel wulfs  service,  therefore,  Bertric  devoted 
himself,  and  in  his  company  returned  to  England. 


III. 


IN  those  days,  when  John  the  Baptist's  life  seems  to 
have  been  the  ideal  of  holiness  far  more  than  that  of 
the  Son  of  Man  ;  when  to  renounce  the  common  food  and 


224  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WK. 

the  common  joys  of  humanity  was  deemed  far  nobler 
than  to  turn  earth's  daily  bread  to  divine  uses ;  when 
the  Church  demanded  of  her  saints  that  they  should 
come  neither  eating  bread  nor  drinking  wine,  it  is  re- 
markable that  the  greatest  and  best  man  whose  history 
has  reached  us  should  have  been  trained  in  quite  another 
way. 

Alfred  the  Atheling  grew  up,  not  in  the  wilderness, 
but  in  the  home.  His  early  lore  was  not  the  ascetic 
legends,  but  the  inspiriting  ballads  of  his  people,  learned 
by  heart  and  repeated  at  his  mother's  knee,  to  win  the 
jeweled  volume  in  which  they  were  written.  His  school 
was  not  the  narrow  convent  under  monkish  discipline, 
but  the  royal  home,  with  its  recreations  and  its  occupa- 
tions. He  was  familiar  with  men  and  events  before  he 
became  familiar  with  books  ;  and  therefore,  to  him  books 
became,  not  the  dry  dust,  but  the  living  pictures,  of  the 
men  and  events  of  other  days.  The  heroic  conflicts  of 
the  Saxon  ballads  might  be  fought  again  in  the  England 
of  his  day ;  the  field  was  there,  and  the  foe,  why  not 
also  the  heroes  ?  The  chase  was  his  great  delight ;  not 
the  mere  pursuit  of  harmless  creatures  "  preserved  "  for 
the  purpose ;  but  perilous  pursuit  of  wolves  and  wild 
boars  (such  as  in  his  day  wounded  Carloman,  king  of  the 
Franks,  to  death),  tracing  them  to  their  hiding-places, 
through  unbroken  forests,  and  following  them  till  spear 
or  arrow  striking  them  arrested  their  flight,  or  they 
turned  to  bay  as  fiercely  as  any  Dane  on  the  pursuer, 
when  the  chase  was  changed  into  a  struggle  for  life  or 
death.  Thus,  eye  and  hand  were  trained,  and  muscle  and 
nerve  were  braced ;  and  with  these  physical  qualities 
were  strengthened  insensibly  the  great  intellectual  and 
moral  qualities  so  closely  linked  to  them — quick  observa- 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH- TELLER.  225 

tion,  ready  resource,  and  vigilant  caution  ;  patient  endur- 
ance, steadfast  purpose,  and  calm  courage. 

Alfred  was  successful  in  the  chase  5  "  and  skill  and  good 
fortune  in  this  art,  as  in  all  others,"  says  Asser  his  friend, 
"  are  among  the  gifts  of  God."  And  after  such  days  of 
toil,  and  peril,  and  triumph,  in  which  every  faculty  of 
body,  mind,  and  heart  were  called  out  to  the  utmost,  the 
young  prince  might  well  turn  with  keen  zest  to  the  bal- 
lads of  heroic  dragon-slayers,  whether  couched  in  Saxon 
ballad  or  saintly  legend. 

"  In  look,  in  speech,  in  manners  more  graceful  than  all 
his  brothers,"  the  darling  of  his  parents,  and  of  all  the 
people,  he  yet  seems  to  have  escaped  the  usual  compensa- 
ting misery  of  such  popular  favourites.  There  must  have 
been  a  noble  absence  of  self-assertion  and  self-seeking  in 
a  character  which  could  be  at  once  the  example  and  the 
delight  of  young  and  old,  of  elders  and  companions.  We 
find  no  trace  of  jealousies  such  as  marred  the  early  life 
of  the  father's  darling  of  old  Hebrew  days  ;  and,  from 
what  we  learn  of  the  character  of  King  Ethelwulf,  the 
merit  can  scarcely  be  ascribed  to  his  judgment  or  for- 
bearance. 

The  sunshine  of  those  early  days  does  not,  indeed,  seem 
to  have  been  without  its  temptations.  To  Alfred,  from 
his  own  confession,  whatever*  may  have  appeared  to 
others,  the  great  sorrows  of  his  after  life  did  not  come 
as  an  unaccountable  crop  of  troubles,  springing  he  knew 
not  whence,  but  as  a  needed  chastening,  whose  bitter 
root  of  sin  he  traced  with  penitent  tears,  while  others, 
with  rejoicing  eyes,  bore  witness  to  their  peaceable  fruits 
of  righteousness. 

Yet  from  the  first  glimpses  given  us  of  him,  a  fervent 
and  practical  piety  seems  to  have  been  interwoven  with 


226  TEE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

Alfred's  inmost  being.  Dear  as  his  national  ballads  were 
to  him,  and  all  records  he  could  glean  of  -the  wise  and 
great  of  old,  the  book  which  "  he  kept  day  and  night  in 
his  bosom  n  from  his  youth,  as  Asser  himself  saw,  was  one 
containing  the  Scriptures  and  hymns  for  the  sacred  hours, 
with  certain  psalms  and  prayers  in  Anglo-Saxon,  psalms 
of  praise  and  penitence  of  David  the  king,  and  Christian 
prayers  pleading  for  grace  in  every  time  of  need,  and 
purification  by  the  fire  of  the  Holy  Spirit  "  from  that 
Lord  God  of  truth  who  redeemed  mankind,  sold  to  sin, 
not  by  silver  and  gold,  but  by  the  blood  of  his  precious 
Son." 

Such  words  kept  in  his  bosom,  such  words  laid  up  in 
his  heart  day  and  night,  were  the  hidden  source  of  that 
self-sacrificing  life  to  which  England  owes  so  much. 

What  tales  that  little  well-worn  volume  might  reveal, 
if  it  could  but  relate  the  scenes  which  must  have  been 
photographed  on  it — of  midnight  vigils  and  solitary  hours 
passed  in  the  churches  before  the  first  priest  came  to 
celebrate  the  first  mass,  in  fervent  prayer  to  God  ;  prayer 
which,  doubtless,  no  written  nor  even  any  spoken  words 
could  fathom,  which  often  deepened  into  "  groanings  not 
to  be  uttered."  For  Alfred's  was  no  apathetic  nature, 
and  his  position  was  one  shielded  from  no  temptation. 
One  who  knew  and  loved  him  well  has  written,  that  so 
strong  were  his  passions,  yet  so  much  stronger  his  dread 
of  sin,  that  he  entreated  God  to  strengthen  him  against 
himself  by  any  malady,  however  painful,  only  that  it 
might  not  make  him  imbecile  or  contemptible  in  his  royal 
duties. 

Interpret  it  as  we  will,  such  prayers  the  young  prince 
offered,  rising  often  in  the  morning  before  the  cock-crow- 
ing, and  prostrating  himself  on  the  ground  in  the  empty 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  227 

church  before  God.  And  from  such  a  malady  he  suffered, 
tortured  with  sharp  and  often  recurring  spasms  of  pain, 
yet  such  as  never  hindered  him  in  any  service  of  God  and 
of  his  people. 

The  suffering,  however,  became  so  intense  and  increas- 
ing, that  while  still  a  youth  under  twenty,  Alfred  was 
seized  with  a  haunting  dread  of  leprosy,  or  some  other 
complaint  which  makes  men  useless  or  despicable.  This 
fear  pursued  him  at  his  studies,  at  his  brother's  court, 
and  at  the  chase,  until  one  day,  when  on  a  hunting  expe- 
dition in  Cornwall,  he  turned  aside  from  his  company,  as 
was  his  wont,  to  offer  his  private  devotions  in  a  lonely 
chapel  dedicated  to  St.  Guerir  (now  St.  Neot's),  in  a 
rocky  valley  among  the  Cornish  moors.  There  "  he  spent 
some  time  entreating  of  God's  mercy,  that  of  his  bound- 
less clemency  he  would  exchange  the  torments  of  the 
malady  which  then  afflicted  him,  for  some  other  lighter 
disease  ;"  asking  but  for  one  condition,  not  a  diminution 
or  abbreviation  of  suffering,  "  but  only  that  it  might  not 
show  itself  outwardly  in  his  body,  lest,"  in  those  rude 
and  stormy  times,  "  he  should  be  an  object  of  contempt, 
and  less  able  to  benefit  mankind.  When  he  had  finished 
his  prayers/7  writes  Asser,  "  he  proceeded  on  his  journey, 
and  not  long  after  he  felt  within  him  that,  by  the  hand 
of  the  Almighty,  he  was  healed,  according  to  his  request, 
of  his  disorder,  and  that  it  was  entirely  eradicated." 

By  such  discipline  the  Father  of  spirits  saw  fit  to  train  a 
spirit,  which,  instead  of  seeking  to  manufacture  penances 
for  itself,  committed  itself  unreservedly  to  Him.  And 
to  such  ends  did  that  divine  discipline  lead.  By  paths 
so  rough  to  goals  so  glorious  does  God  conduct  his  sons 
who  trust  him,  and  wish,  above  all  things,  to  obey  him. 

Well  may  we  tremble  to  ask  God  to  teach  and  sanctify 


228  *  THE  EARL Y  DA  WN. 

us  if  we  do  not  mean  it.    But  we  ueed  not  tremble  at  any- 
possible  discipline  if  we  do. 


IV. 


AT  this  West  Saxon  court  Bertric  passed  many  years 
of  his  life,  growing  from  youth  to  manhood,  whilst 
Alfred  grew  from  childhood  to  youth.  Consciously  or 
unconsciously,  the  hopes  of  the  country,  and  its  best  and 
bravest  men  gathered  around  the  prince.  For  mean- 
while, in  860,  "  a  large  fleet  came  to  land  and  stormed 
Winchester."*  In  865  "  the  heathen  army  sate  down  in 
Thanet,  and  made  peace  with  the  men  of  Kent,  and  the 
iflen  of  Kent  promised  them  money  for  the  peace  ;  and 
during  the  peace  and  the  promise  of  money,  the  army 
stole  away  by  night  and  ravaged  all  Kent  to  the  east- 
ward." In  866  "  a  great  heathen  army  took  up  their 
winter  quarters  among  the  East  Angles,"  who  made  peace 
with  them,  and  supplied  them  with  horses  to  ravage  the 
rest  of  the  land.  In  867  the  heathen  army  went  into 
Northumbria,  where,  "  by  the  instigation  of  the  devil," 
Asser  thinks,  "  there  was  much  dissension  on  account  of 
two  rival  kings  ;"  and  at  York  "  there  was  an  excessive 
slaughter  of  the  Northumbrians — some  within  the  city, 
some  without — and  the  two  kings  were  slain."  In  868, 
"  the  heathen  army  took  up  their  winter  quarters  at  Not- 
tingham." In  869  they  were  again  at  York,  and  there 
was  a  great  famine  and  mortality  of  men,  and  a  pestilence 
among  the  cattle ;  and  in  870  this  same  terrible  army, 
horsed  by  the  East  Angles,  "rode  across  Mercia  into 
East  Anglia,  and  took  up  their  winter  quarters  at  Thet- 

*  Saxon  Chronicle. 


A1FRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  229 

ford ;  and  the  same  winter  King  Edmund  (the  martyr) 
fought  against  them,  and  the  Danes  got  the  victory  and 
slew  the  king,  and  subdued  all  the  land,  and  destroyed 
all  the  minsters  (monasteries)  which  they  came  to.  At 
that  same  time  they  came  to  Medehamstede  (Peterbor- 
ough) and  burned  and  beat  it  down,  slew  abbot  and 
monks,  and  all  that  they  found  there ;  and  that  place, 
which  before  was  full  rich,  they  reduced  to  nothing." 
For  such  involuntary  discipline  and  unfeigned  destitution 
were  the  poor  monks  compelled  to  exchange  their  com- 
fortable voluntary  penances  and  their  vows  of  voluntary 
poverty  mitigated  by  the  charitable  donations  of  the 
faithful.  They  had  renounced  the  world,  but  it  was 
rather  a  different  thing  for  the  world  thus  to  renounce 
them.  Yet,  by  such  unexpected  and  uncompromising 
discipline,  inflicted  by  no  friendly  hands,  we  may  trust, 
were  many  true  sons  of  God  scourged  into  his  king- 
dom. 

Had  not  the  chosen  deliverer  himself  to  earn  his  knight- 
hood by  discipline  as  little  self-imposed,  and  scarcely 
less  severe  ? 

In  868,  which  was  the  twentieth  year  of  King  Alfred's 
life,  there  was  a  great  famine.  But  at  Nottingham  there 
was  great  feasting ;  for  Alfred  the  Atheling  was  married 
to  the  noble  lady  Elswitha,  daughter  of  Athelred,  sur- 
named  Mucil  (the  Great)-,  earl  of  the  Gaini,  and  of  Ed- 
burga,  a  princess  of  the  royal  line  of  Mercia,  "  a  venera- 
ble and  pious  lady." 

Day  and  night  the  festivities,  with  banquet,  song,  and 
dance,  were  prolonged  —  the  guests,  royal  and  noble, 
prince  and  peasant,  forgetting  for  awhile,  in  wild  merri- 
ment, the  cloud  of  misery  and  oppression  which  shadowed 
all  the  land — wl  en  suddenly,  in  the  presence  of  all  the 


23° 


THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 


guests,  the  princely  bridegroom  was  seized  by  some  mys- 
terious and  agonizing  malady. 

The  noisy  mirth  of  the  revellers  died  away  in  alarm  or 
in  sympathy,  as  the  report  of  his  sudden  attack  penetrated 
among  them.  An  anxious  silence  succeeded  to  the  sounds 
of  music  and  laughter,  broken  only  by  the  running  hither 
and  thither  of  the  attendants,  as  they  vainly  sought  help, 
and  the  murmurs  of  hope  and  disappointment  in  the  little 
circle  immediately  around  the  sufferer,  as  remedy  after 
remedy  was  tried  in  vain.  The  skill  of  the  physicians 
was  baffled  ;  none  knew  the  cause  of  the  disease,  nor  any 
means  of  alleviating  it.  Here  and  there  among  the 
courtiers,  and  still  more  among  the  serving-men  and 
maidens,  it  began  to  be  whispered  that  the  prince  was 
bewitched  by  secret  magic  arts,  or  that  the  devil  himself 
was  tormenting  him  in  person. 

Such  was  the  close  of  Alfred's  wedding-feast.  From 
that  day  till  his  forty-fourth  year — twenty-four  years 
afterward — the  terrible  and  mysterious  malady,  what- 
ever it  was,  continually  recurred  ;  one  agonizing  attack 
succeeding  another  with  dreadful  certainty,  yet  at  irreg- 
ular intervals,  so  that  he  was  never  a  day  or  a  night  free 
either  from  suffering  or  from  the  dread  of  it. 

The  darling  of  parents,  of  court,  and  people,  had  found 
the  cross  which  was  to  make  his  earthly  crown  safe  for 
him,  and  to  fuse  for  him  the  heavenly  crown. 

"  Often,"  says  Asser,  "  he  thought  it  rendered  him  use- 
less for  every  duty,  whether  human  or  divine."  But 
when  Christ  lays  his  cross  on  any  who  follow  him,  he 
takes  care  that,  however  it  may  hurt,  it  shall  never  hin- 
der. For  Alfred  also,  as  for  us,  the  rod  and  the  cross 
are  blended.  The  furnace  which  tries  our  faith  scorches 
our  sinful  flesh     Alfred  could  not  alwavs  see  this  as  he 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER. 


231 


suffered ;  but  England  has  acknowledged  it  now  for  a 
thousand  years,  and  Alfred,  we  may  believe,  not  for  less, 
casting  his  crown  before  Him  who  did  not  only  bear  the 
cross  before  us,  but  was  nailed  to  it  for  us. 

In  such  ratio  are  the  multiplications  of  heaven  when 
God  turns  our  sorrows  into  songs. 


V. 


THERE  was  silence  in  the  Danish  camp  in  East 
Anglia.  The  sounds  of  revelry  and  the  wild  tales 
of  plunder  and  slaughter  had  died  away,  and  the  warriors 
lay  asleep  around  the  camp  fires.  The  captive  women 
and  children,  weary  with  being  driven  all  day  like  cattle 
across  the  devastated  country,  had  forgotten  their  sor- 
rows for  a  time  in  sleep,  wrapped  in  such  ragged  gar- 
ments as  had  been  spared  them  ;  and  the  Danish  women 
were  at  rest  in  the  tents.  Enemy  there  was  none  left 
within  reach  to  offer-  resistance.  The  pirates  were  as 
safe  in  the  land  they  had  laid  desolate  as  on  their  own 
northern  shores,  and  the  tread  of  no  sentinel  broke  the 
stillness. 

One  Saxon  woman  only  was  awake — Hilda,  the  sister 
of  Bertric — and  she  sat  on  the  ground  at  the  door  of  the 
tent  of  her  young  mistress,  Gudruna,  the  daughter  of  the 
Jarl  Sidroc  the  younger.  All  around  the  horizon  the 
sky  was  lit  up  from  point  to  point  by  the  fires  of  burning 
villages  and  monasteries.  She  had  been  taken  about 
witli  the  heathen  army  through  Mercia,  Northumbria, 
and  East  Anglia,  through  scenes  of  plunder,  bloodshed, 
and  unutterable  horror,  until  she  seemed  to  have  no  tears 
left  to  weep  ;  and  as  she  sat  and  watched  the  flames  of 


232  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

violated  and  burning  homes,  a  dull  hopelessness  lay  on 
her  heart — she  could  neither  pray  nor  weep. 

A  few  weeks  before,  her  heart  had  glowed  with  a  hope 
she  scarcely  cared  to  conceal  from  her  captors,  and  many 
bitter  and  taunting  words  had  been  launched  at  her  for 
it.  The  brave  Earl  Algar  had  gathered  a  Saxon  force 
in  the  south  of  Lincoln,  and  had  well-nigh  been  victori- 
ous. Eagerly  Hilda  had  watched  the  anxious  consulta- 
tions of  the  Danish  lords  ;  but  that  glimpse  of  hope  had 
faded,  like  so  many  others.  The  gallant  earl  had  fallen 
into  the  old  Danish  stratagem,  and  had  been  tempted  by 
a  pretended  flight  into  a  rash  pursuit.  The  enemy  had 
been  reinforced,  and  some  of  the  Saxons  had  deserted  in 
the  night ;  so  that  on  the  battle-field  Algar  and  his  faith- 
ful five  hundred  had  accomplished  nothing  save  the  stay- 
ing for  that  one  day  of  the  cruel  work  of  plunder  and 
ruin,  at  the  cost  of  the  best  lives  left  in  eastern  England. 

Then  had  followed  days  of  fiercer  slaughter  than  ever. 
The  abbeys  of(Bardeney,  Croyland,  and  Peterborough, 
with  all  their  treasures  and  libraries,  were  burned,  and 
such  of  the  monks  as  could  not  escape  into  the  woods  and 
marshes  had  been  massacred,  with  torture,  on  their  altars. 

Hilda  could  neither  weep  nor  pray  ;  for  the  fountain 
of  tears,  as  of  prayer,  must  be  opened  by  some  touch, 
however  faint,  of  the  hand  of  hope — and  she  had  lost  all 
power  to  hope. 

The  Christian  faith,  as  she  had  learned  it,  had  been 
bereft  of  much  of  its  divine  comfort.  She  had  learned 
much  of  the  wrath  of  God  and  of  his  judgments.  The 
saints  she  had  been  taught  to  reverence  were,  for  the 
most  part,  men  of  severe  mould,  who  had  spent  life  in 
making  themselves  holy  by  self-mortification  and  renun- 
ciation of  all  earthly  joy.     She  had  a  certain  dread  of  all 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  233 

natural  human  joys,  as  of  things  belonging  to  the  sinful 
flesh  and  the  doomed  world ;  and  with  the  meaning  of 
joy  she  had  necessarily  become  confused  about  the  mean- 
ing of  sorrow.  Pain,  voluntarily  self-inflicted,  or  endured 
in  martyrdom,  had  in  it,  she  believed,  something  expia- 
tory ;  but  this  agony  and  misery  around  her — was  there 
anything  expiatory  and  purifying  in  that  ?  Was  it  not 
rather  the  scourging  of  a  people  that,  having  sinned  be- 
yond forgiveness,  found  its  hell  beginning  on  earth  ? 

One  thought  alone  preserved  her  from  despair — that 
image  of  divine  and  undying  love,  that  vision  of  Christ 
on  the  cross,  which  no  corruption  can  quite  blot  out  of 
Christianity,  rose  before  her  through  the  darkness  and 
above  the  flames  of  vengeance.  When  she  could  feel 
nothing  else,  again  and  again  the  thought  of  that  suffer- 
ing Redeemer  seemed  to  take  the  icy  weight  from  her 
heart.  She  could  not  trace  the  connection  between  him 
and  all  this  suffering  ;  but  blindly,  helplessly,  with  little 
hope  and  less  understanding,  she  clung  to  him.  She  felt 
she  could  trust  him.  It  was  of  him  she  spoke  to  the 
young  Lady  Gudruna,  the  one  Dane  whom  she  loved. 
And  it  was  seldom  that  this  dim  yet  sincere  trust  left  her 
so  utterly  prostrate  as  she  felt  to-night. 

As  she  sat  thus  motionless,  gazing  unconsciously  at 
the  terribly  glowing  sky,  a  slight  movement  aroused  her, 
and,  looking  around,  she  saw  a  young  boy,  not  more  than 
ten  years  old,  creeping  gently  to  her  side. 

"  Christian  woman  I"  he  murmured,  clinging  to  her 
dress,  "  let  me  speak  to  you.  Sidroc  the  Jarl  warned  me 
to  keep  out  of  sight  of  the  Danes,  or  he  could  not  save 
me  any  longer." 

"  Who  art  thou,  poor  Saxon  child  ?"  she  said ;  "  and 
how  dost  thou  know  me  ?" 


234  THE  EARLY  DA  WK 

"  I  heard  thee  utter  the  name  of  Jesus  just,  now,"  he 
said,  "  as  I  lay  hidden  here  beside  Sidroc's  tent.  I  am 
Turgar,  the  child  they  spared  at  Croyland — the  only 
one."  * 

Hilda  shuddered. 

"  Thou  wast  there  at  the  massacre  ?" 

The  child  began  to  weep. 

"  Softly  I"  she  whispered,  hiding  his  sobbing  face  in 
her  bosom  as  she  folded  him  to  her. 

"  I  saw  them  all  murdered,"  he  murmured  between  his 
sobs, — "all:  the  children  my  school-fellows,  the  old 
monks  who  were  too  old  to  flee,  the  old  abbot  with  his 
gray  hair.  They  tormented  many  of  them  with  dreadful 
tortures — children  and  old  men — to  make  them  say  where 
the  treasures  were  hidden  ;  but  they  could  not  tell,  for 
the  young  monks  had  carried  them  away.  The  old  monks 
cried  out  in  their  great  pain,  but  they  asked  for  no  mercy. 
But  the  children  sobbed  and  begged  for  mercy  ;  yet  not 
one  was  spared — not  one  but  me.  I  kept  close  to  the  good 
sub-prior,  and  when  he  fled  into  the  refectory  and  they 
killed  him  there,  I  prayed  them  to  let  me  die  with  him." 

Hilda  let  the  child  talk,  and  her  tears  fell  slowly  on 
his  fair  head. 

"  But  Sidroc  the  Jarl  spared  me,"  continued  the  child. 
"  He  spoke  kindly  to  me,  and  pulled  off  my  little  cowl, 
and  threw  a  Danish  tunic  around  me,  and  bade  me  keep 
close  to  him.  But  he  told  me  yesterday  he  can  do  little 
more  for  me,  the  kings  and  jarls  are  so  angry  because 
the  brother  of  Hubba  was  wounded  at  Peterborough. 
Hubba  killed  the  gray-haired  abbot  there  and  seventy 
of  the  monks,  with  his  own  hand  ;  but  Sidroc  says  that 
is  hardly  vengeance  enough.     What  can  I  do  ?"     And 

*  Vide  Sharon  Turner's  "  Anglo-Saxons." 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER. 


235 


tears  covered  the  innocent  face,  whose  childish  beauty 
had  moved  the  heart  of  the  Danish  chief  to  pity. 

"  Pray  to  God,  my  child/'  said  Hilda,  "  for  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ's  sake,  and  flee  from  this  wicked  camp  the 
first  moment  that  thou  canst.     God  will  help  thee." 

"But  the  monks  of  Croyland  and  the  children  my 
school-fellows  prayed/'  said  the  child,  "  and  God  let  them 
die  in  agony." 

"  Death  is  but  a  gate,  my  child/'  said  Hilda,  her  faith 
gathering  strength  as  she  uttered  it.  "  God  heard  those 
who  prayed,  and  took  them  safely  to  himself  through 
that  blood-stained  gate.  Did  you  never  hear  of  the  Mas- 
sacre of  the  Holy  Innocents  ?" 

The  boy  grew  calmer  as  he  listened  to  the  old  story 
of  death ;  and  as  she  said  to  him  the  sweet  old  hymn 
about  the  flowers  of  the  martyrs,  whom  on  the  threshold 
of  light  the  enemy  of  Christ  cut  off,  as  a  garden  of  bud- 
ding roses,  those  first  victims  of  Christ,  those  tender 
lambs  of  sacrifice,  who  at  the  altar  innocently  played 
with  their  crowns  and  their  palms  ; — the  memory  of  the 
massacred  innocents  of  old,  long  in  paradise,  leaving  only 
the  fragrance  of  their  morning  sacrifice  on  earth,  threw 
a  sacred  light  on  the  massacres  of  yesterday. 

"King  Herod  has  been  dead  eight  hundred  years," 
said  Hilda,  "  and  Hubba  and  the  Danes,  and  every  one 
around  us,  will  soon  follow.  Your  beloved  and  mine 
have  only  gone  a  little  before,  and  they  have  gone  to 
Christ." 

"  Your  beloved  ?"  said  the  boy. 

And  then  she  told  him  the  tale  of  her  old  home  on  the 
heights  near  London,  where,  she  had  been  told,  all  her 
kindred  had  been  slain.  And  as,  in  low  whispered  words, 
she  related  the  long  story  of  her  griefs,  for  the  first  time 


236  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

for  years  her  thoughts  went  back  into  the  past,  and  the 
present  vanished  from  her  altogether,  until,  by  the  heavier 
pressure  of  his  head  upon  her  shoulder,  she  knew  that 
the  child  had  fallen  asleep. 

Then  with  the  heart  she  had  comforted  beating  close 
to  hers,  once  more  she  could  pray.  "  King  Herod  died," 
she  thought,  "  and  the  Holy  Innocents  are  in  paradise,  and 
the  blessed  Lord  could  not  be  slain  until  his  time  came  ; 
and  then  he  died  to  redeem  us,  and  rose  again,  and  is 
ascended  into  heaven.  Yes,  we  may  not  see  it  pass,  but 
this  night  of  terror  will  not  shadow  the  earth  for  ever." 

So  she  repeated  the  Creed,  and  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and 
some  portion  of  the  Saxon  Te  Deum,  which  she  had 
learned  more  than  twenty  years  before  in  the  convent  at 
Canterbury,  and  then  fell  peacefully  asleep  beside  the 
child. 

The  chill  of  the  dawn  awoke  her.  Tenderly  she  wrapt 
a  warm  mantle  round  the  sleeping  boy,  and  kneeling 
down  beside  him,  repeated  her  morning  hymn  of  praise. 
There  was  a  sad  silence  in  the  dawn.  A  few  song  birds 
sang  from  a  wood  near  them  ;  but  no  lowing  of  cattle  or 
bleating  of  sheep  came  up  from  the  wasted  fields — no  hum 
of  labour  from  the  sacked  and  smouldering  villages. 

Before  long  she  awoke  the  child,  and  making  him  say 
his  morning  prayer  beside  her,  she  sent  him  to  another 
part  of  the  camp  to  avoid  suspicion. 

That  day,  as  the  army  were  crossing  the  river  Nen, 
two. of  the  wagons  laden  with  plunder  were  overturned 
in  the  river,  and  during  the  confusion  the  child  of  Croy- 
land  escaped  into  a  wood  on  the  river  banks.  All  day 
and  night  he  wandered  on,  until  he  came  to  his  own  mon- 
astery. There,  amidst  the  burning  ruins,  he  found  the 
fugitive  monks,  who  were  endeavouring  to  extinguish  the 


ALFRED  THE  TEUTH-TELLEB.  237 

flames.  But  as  they  listened  to  the  child's  tale  of  horror, 
and  learned  the  meaning  of  the  stains  of  blood  on  altar, 
and  wall,  and  chapel  floor,  for  a  time  they  lost  heart  for 
their  work,  and  could  do  nothing,  strong  men  as  they 
were,  but  give  way  to  an  agony  of  grief. 

Then,  collecting  the  mutilated  remains  of  their  mur- 
dered brethren,  they  buried  them  among  the  smoking 
ruins  of  the  abbey,  which  a  few  days  before  had  stood 
so  strong  and  fair,  looking  out  over  its  fertile  island 
amidst  the  fens. 

But  Hilda  was  carried  on  with  the  Danish  army  until 
they  came  near  Bury,  in  Suffolk. 

There  she  was  sitting  one  morning  with  the  young 
maiden  Gudruna,  in  a  house  from  which  the  Saxon  owners 
had  been  lately  driven. 

As  they  sat  spinning  in  the  hall,  Gudruna  said, — 

"  Was  your  home  like  this  ?" 

Hilda  answerd  sadly, — 

"  Like  this  was  /" 

"  I  would  give  anything  to  make  you  feel  at  home  in 
our  home,"  said  the  maiden  ;  "  but  I  suppose  you  never 
can." 

"  There  is  no  place  on  earth  so  much  like  home  to  me 
as  where  you  are,"  said  Hilda,  quietly.  "  Have  I  not 
served  you  from  infancy?" 

"  Faithfully,"  said  the  maiden ;  "  yet  there  is  a  gulf 
between  us.  I  feel  it.  How  can  you  forget  what  your 
people  have  suffered  from  mine?" 

Their  conversation  was  interrupted  by  a  party  of 
Danish  horsemen,  who  came  to  ask  a  drink  of  ale  or  mead 
in  passing. 

They  were  courteously  invited  in ;  their  horses  were 
held  when  they  alighted  ;  ewers  of  water  and  basins 


238  THE  EARLY  DA WK 

were  brought  by  the  slaves  to  wash  their  feet ;  and  a 
repast  of  bread  and  honey,  with  ale,  was  spread  in  the 
hall. 

As  they  ate,  they  talked  to  each  other.  The  first  sen- 
tence enchained  Hilda's  attention  as  by  a  terrible  spell. 

"  He  died  bravely,  the  young  king,"  said  one  of  them. 
"  If  the  Christians  had  a  walhalla,  he  endured  enough 
to  earn  it." 

"  Yes,  they  were  of  our  blood,"  growled  another,  "  be- 
fore their  Christianity  spoiled  them.  Better  to  have 
shown  his  courage  on  the  battle-field  than  tied  to  a  tree 
and  beaten  like  a  hound.  Scarcely  a  death  that,  for  a 
hero." 

"How  did  this  young  King  Edmund  die?"  asked  a 
third ;  "  I  came  too  late  to  see.  When  I  arrived,  the 
corpse  was  lying  covered  with  blood  at  the  root  of  the 
tree.    I  missed  the  rest." 

"  First,  they  counseled  him  to  submit,"  said  the  first 
speaker  ;  "  but  he  said,  his  most  faithful  followers  were 
dead,  and  the  loss  of  them  made  him  weary  of  the  light 
of  heaven  ;  and  that  he  felt  it  nobler  to  die  for  his  coun- 
try than  to  forsake  it.  '  Tell  your  commander,'  he  said, 
1 1  am  neither  terrified  by  his  threats,  nor  deluded  by  his 
promises.  Death  is  preferable  to  slavery.  You  may  des- 
troy this  frail  and  perishing  body,  like  a  despised  vessel ; 
but  my  spirit  shall  fly  to  heaven  from  this  prison  of  flesh, 
unstained  by  a  degrading  submission.'  The  old  blood 
spoke  out  there,  I  trow.  How  he  died  you  may  ask  an- 
other. I  am  sick  of  such  sights,  and  have  no  taste  for 
torturing  helpless  victims." 

"  They  bound  him  to  a  tree  and  scourged  him,  and  then 
pierced  him  with  many  arrows.  But  life  was  tenacious  in 
him  ;  he  would  utter  no  complaint,  so  that  at  last  King 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER. 


239 


Hingwar,  the  son  of  Regnar  Lodbrok,  wearied  with  his 
patience,  struck  off  his  head."  * 

Gudruna  turned  as  pale  as  Hilda,  and  was  leading 
her  from  the  room,  when  one  of  the  warriors  claimed  to 
pledge  his  countrywoman,  the  fair  hostess,  in  a  cup  of 
mead. 

"lam  a  Dane/'  said  the  maiden,  passionately,  "  but  I 
am  a  woman ;  and  no  monsters  or  beasts  of  prey  are  kin- 
dred of  mine.  Drink,  if  you  can,  with  the  moans  of  the 
patient,  tortured  king  in  your  ears ;  but  I  will  take  no 
pledge  from  you." 

There  was  an  angry  murmur,  and  some  of  the  guests 
rose ;  but  the  man  who  had  spoken  with  respect  of  the 
murdered  Edmund,  spoke  out  boldly. 

"  The  maiden  has  spoken  to  my  mind.  Touch  her  who 
dare !" 

In  a  few  minutes  the  hall  was  cleared,  and  Hilda  and 
Gudruna  stood  there  alone. 

"Hilda,"  said  the  Danish  maiden,  "my  heart  bleeds 
for  you.  Until  we  came  to  England  I  knew  nothing  of 
these  horrors.     The  tales  of  victory  brought  from  across 

*  The  legend  which  grew  up  around  the  death  of  King  Edmund  is  a 
curious  specimen  of  the  instruction  our  Anglo-Saxon  ancestors  received  by 
way  of  sermons.  It  is  from  a  homily  for  St.  Edmund's  Day,  November  2, 
in  the  Salisbury  Breviary,  quoted  in  Soames'  "Anglo-Saxon  Church." 
After  the  young  king's  death,  his  followers  went  to  search  for  his  body,  in 
order  to  give  it  a  reverent  burial.  "  They  went  out  seeking  together,"  says 
the  homily,  "  and  constantly,  as  is  the  wont  of  those  who  oft  go  into  the 
woods,  cried,  '  Where  art  thou,  comrade?  And  to  them  answered  the  king's 
head,  •  Here,  here,  here.'  Thus  all  were  answered  as  often  as  any  of  them 
called,  until  they  all  came  through  calling  to  it.  There  lay  the  grey  wolf 
that  guarded  the  head,  and  with  his  two  feet  had  embraced  the  head ;  and, 
greedy  and  hungry  as  he  was,  he  durst  not  taste  the  head,  and  held  it 
against  wild  beasts.  Then  were  they  astonished  at  the  wolfs  guardianship, 
and  carried  the  holy  head  home,  thanking  the  Almighty  for  all  his  wonders. 
But  the  wolf  followed  forth  with  the  head,  until  they  came  to  town,  as  if  he 
were  tame ;  and  after  that  turned  into  the  woods  again." 


240  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

the  sea  made  me  feel  nothing  but  pride  and  gladness.  I 
received  the  spoils,  and  looked  on  them  only  as  the 
proofs  of  my  father's  prowess,  and  the  gifts  of  his  affec- 
tion. If  I  thought  of  the  poor  plundered  people  at  all, 
it  was  only  as  my  father's  foes — cowards,  probably  j  and 
at  all  events,  being  of  another  race.  But  now  all  is 
changed.  I  have  heard  the  cries  and  moans  of  the  dying. 
I  have  stood  on  thresholds  stained  with  the  life-blood 
of  murdered  parents  and  little  ones.  And  Hilda,"  she 
said,  passionately,  "  I  would  rather  be  one  of  your  people 
than  one  of  mine  :  for,  except  my  father,  who  spared  the 
child  of  Croyland,  these  men  around  us  seem  to  me  more 
cruel  than  beasts  of  prey.  If  I  knew  any  of  our  gods 
who  are  tender-hearted,  and  would  listen,  I  would  pray 
them  to  grant  us  no  more  victories,  but  to  take  us  home 
to  Norway,  and  leave  this  Saxon  land  to  the  Saxons. 
But  there  is  no  god  who  would  listen.  Balder,  the 
beautiful,  the  kind,  for  whom  all  creatures  wept,  might 
have  heard  me,  but  he  is  shut  up  for  ever  in  the  halls  of 
Hela,  the  death-goddess.  Loki,  the  black-hearted,  slew 
him  ;  and  among  all  the  gods  I  know  not  one  who  would 
have  pity." 

Hilda  was  silent. 

"  There  is  One  who  has  pity,"  she  said  at  length. 

"  Yes,  I  know  whom  you  mean,"  said  Gudruna.  "  But 
how  can  I  trust  in  one  who  lets  those  who  serve  him 
die  such  deaths,  and  suffer  worse  than  death  before  they 
die  ?  One  thing  only  I  know,"  she  added  ;  "  you  have 
told  me  there  are  houses  among  the  Christians  where 
maidens  can  live  apart  from  the  world,  and  never  marry. 
Rather  than  wed  one  of  these  savages  I  would  fly  to  such 
a  refuge  to-morrow,  if  I  knew  of  one." 

*  But  you  are  not  a  Christian,"  Hilda  said,  sadly. 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  241 

"Nay,"  said  Gudruna.  "I  cannot  understand  your 
Christian  faith.  You  suffer  patiently,  I  see,  and  have  a 
hope  beyond  death  ;  but  if  all  the  good  men  are  only  to 
suffer,  and  let  all  the  wicked  men  do  as  they  please,  I 
cannot  see  what  the  world  will  come  to.  Why  did  not 
this  poor  King  Edmund  gather  together  his  people  and 
fight  with  them  before  it  was  hopeless  ?" 

"  I  know  not,"  said  Hilda,  mournfully.  *  "  Christianity 
used  not  to  make  men  cowards.  Some  are  called  to 
suffer,  and  some  to  fight ;  and  perhaps  as  God  sees  it, 
the  martyrs  do  help  forward  the  victory.  It  is  something 
if  the  sufferer's  patience  teaches  his  enemy  to  hate 
cruelty." 

"  But  if  your  Saxon  people  and  your  Christianity  are 
to  be  saved,"  said  Gudruna, "  I  think  your  God  must  send 
you  heroes  of  another  kind." 

"  For  this  I  pray  day  and  night,"  said  Hilda,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  Of  old,  God  always  rescued  his  people  by  some 
one  deliverer ;  and  if  England  is  to  be  Christian  Eng- 
land still,  He  will  raise  us  such  a  hero  yet.  Be  he  king, 
or  priest,  or  peasant,  I  have  sometimes  faith  to  believe 
the  deliverer  will  come :  but  when  and  how,  we  know 
not.  Joseph  (the  nuns  of  Canterbury  taught  me  from  the 
Holy  Scriptures)  was  sold  into  slavery  before  he  reigned 
for  his  people's  good :  Moses  was  trained  in  the  very 
house  of  the  tyrant  he  was  to  overthrow.  I  think  the 
deliverer  will  come,  for  God  is  good,  and  the  misery  is 
so  great.  I  only  pray  the  people  may  know  him  when 
he  comes.  The  Jews  did  not  even  know  their  Christ 
when  he  came  ;  but  God  grant  we  be  not  like  them." 

11 


242  THE  EAUL  Y  LA  WN. 

VI. 

NOT  more  than  a  year  passed  after  t:ae  murder  of 
King  Edmund,  near  Bury,  when  Hilda  heard  ti- 
dings which  gave  her  the  first  glimpse  of  hope  that  her 
prayers  were  answered. 

The  Saxons  had  won  their  first  victory  at  Ashdune, 
among  the  chalky  downs  of  Berkshire. 

King  Ethelred  and  his  brother,  Prince  Alfred,  led  the 
English  forces ;  Ethelred  against  the  king's,  Alfred  against 
the  earl's.  The  Saxons  were  posted  in  the  valley.  The 
Danes  held  the  hill.  The  front  of  their  position  was 
marked  by  an  old  stunted  thorn,  which  in  after  days  men 
who  spoke  of  that  battle  remembered  well  as  the  point 
around  which  swayed  the  battle. 

Both  armies  raised  their  shields  and  demanded  battle ; 
but  King  Ethelred  was  hearing  mass  in  his  tent,  remem- 
bering, perhaps,  the  early  lessons  of  good  Bishop  Swithin, 
his  father's  friend.  Alfred  deemed  the  moment  for  attack 
was  being  lost,  and  urged  him  not  to  wait  for  the  con- 
clusion of  the  service.  The  troops  were  ready  and  eager 
to  advance.  On  such  moments  the  fate  of  battle  hangs. 
A  pause  might  enable  the  Saxons  too  well  to  measure 
the  peril,  and  might  bring  a  panic.  The  Danes  might 
think  they  feared  to  advance,  and  might  rush  down  on 
the  hesitating  Saxons  from  their  vantage-ground.  But 
Ethelred  would  not  be  hurried.  He  must  reverently  hear 
the  sacred  office  to  the  close,  he  said,  and  then  he  would 
come.     God  gives  victory. 

Alfred  delayed  no  longer,  but  advanced  boldly  up  the 
hill.  His  attack  at  first  seemed  succeeding,  but  the  Danes 
rallied,  and  were  overpowering  him  by  the  weight  of 
numbers,  when  King  Ethelred,  having  finished  his  mass, 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER. 


243 


came  to  the  rescue.  The  "  heathen  men "  were  routed 
with  great  slaughter.  Some  said,  by  the  prayers  of  King 
Ethelred ;  others  by  the  prowess  of  Prince  Alfred.  The 
corpses  of  the  invaders  lay  piled  around  the  stunted 
thorn  on  the  hill  of  the  Ash,  where  the  battle  was  turned, 
and  all  along  the  Berkshire  hills,  where  all  night  and 
next  day  the  Saxons  pursued  them  till  they  found  shelter 
within  the  walls  of  Eeading.  Long  afterward,  the 
shepherd,  leading  his  flocks  across  the  green  slopes,  came 
on  scattered  corpses  lying  stiff  as  they  had  fallen,  wounded 
in  that  desperate  rout. 

All  through  the  land  went  a  shout  of  triumph,  as  if  a 
terrible  spell  had  been  broken.  From  the  harrow  and 
the  plough,  where  Saxon  thanes  and  yeomen  toiled  hope- 
lessly as  slaves  of  the  conqueror,  went  up  at  evening 
deep  thanksgivings  when  the  tidings  came,  and  the  next 
morning  there  were  no  slaves  to  till  the  soil  for  Danish 
oppressors.  Husbandmen  and  herdsmen  had  gone  off  to 
join  King  Ethelred  of  Wessex,  and  the  young  prince, 
who  could  vanquish  the  invincible. 

Widow  and  orphan  heard  it  in  their  bondage,  and 
gave  God  thanks  in  prayers,  where  curses  were  strangely 
mingled  with  blessings.  All  England  heard  it  and  took 
heart  again  ;  and  in  the  Danish  court  the  captive  Hilda 
heard  it,  and  said  in  her  heart, — 

"  God  has  answered  our  prayers.  Surely  the  deliverer 
is  come." 

The  deliverer  had  indeed  come,  but  not  yet  the  de- 
liverance. 

A  few  months  afterwards,  defeat  followed  victory. 
Three  years  afterwards,  the  monks  of  the  burned  and 
wasted  monastery  of  Lindisfarne  still  gathered  around 
the  bier  of  'St.  Cuthbert  in  the  forests  of  Northumbria, 


244  THE  EARLY  DA  WK 

homeless  exiles.  And  the  pilgrim  band  which  assembled 
to  sing  and  pray  around  that  wandering  bier  were  almost 
the  only  company  in  England  who  ventured  publicly  to 
celebrate  the  Christian  worship  of  God. 

To  the  victory  of  Ashdune  succeeded  the  defeat  of 
Merton.  The  Danes  held  the  field  of  carnage.  Ethel- 
red  the  king  was  slain,  and  the  land  was  so  steeped  in 
misery  that  the  king's  death  scarcely  deepened  the 
mourning. 

Alfred  became  king  in  his  brother's  place,  and  the 
accession  of  England's  darling  could  scarcely  win  a  note 
of  rejoicing ;  so  long,  and  heavy,  and  hopeless  was  the 
weight  of  ruin  and  fear  which  rested  on  all  the  people. 

The  deliverer  had  come  ;  but  the  deliverance  had  yet 
to  be  wrought.  Nay  more,  the  deliverer  himself  had 
to  be  trained.  The  iron  for  the  sword  of  warfare  was 
there,  but  it  had  yet  to  be  tempered  in  the  fire.  The 
Moses  had  been  sent,  but  he  had  yet  to  be  trained  in  the 
wilderness. 

Hampstead,  July,  1863. 


VII. 

Alfred  the  Truth-Teller. 


SCENES   FROM   THE   LIFETIME   OF 
ENGLAND'S   DARLING. 


VII. 

ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER. 


HE  uncontrollable  joy  and  thankfulness  which 
Hilda  the  Saxon  captive  had  felt  at  the  tidings 
of  the  first  victory  of  her  people,  under  Ethel- 
red  and  Alfred,  had  within  a  few  hours  been 
followed  by  other  tidings,  which  filled  her  with  sorrow. 

In  that  first  victory  of  the  Christian  over  the  pagan 
forces  on  the  hills  of  Berkshire,  had  fallen  Sidroc  the 
younger,  the  only  Dane  of  whom  it  is  recorded  that  his 
heart  was  touched  with  pity  for  the  miseries  of  the  plun- 
dered people,  the  generous  rescuer  of  the  Saxon  child 
from  the  massacre  at  Croyland. 

There  were  bitter  wailings  that  night  in  the  fortress  at 
Reading,  whither  the  vanquished  Danes  had  retreated — 
those  wild  heathen  wailings  of  sorrow  which  has  no  hope, 
whose  only  consolation  is  the  fierce  promise  of  revenge. 

Gudruna  had  not  even  this  bitter  consolation.  She 
went  out  alone  at  midnight  to  the  mound  where  the  slain 
were  buried,  and  made  her  hopeless  moan  to  the  cold 
night  winds. 

"He  was  gentle  and  generous  to  all,"  she  sobbed,  in 

(247) 


248  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

her  anguish,  as  she  wept  over  the  grave  in  which  they 
had  kid  her  father's  body  hastily  among  the  other  fallen 
heroes  and  kings.  "There  were  thousands  of  pitiless 
and  cruel  men  who  might  have  perished,  and  I  would 
have  said, '  It  is  just/  But,  oh !  why  must  he  die  ?  Surely 
it  is  neither  the  God  of  the  Saxons  nor  our  gods  who  de- 
cide the  destinies  of  men,  but  the  passionless  Norns,  some 
of  whom  are  daughters  of  the  gods,  and  some  of  the  elves 
of  darkness— the  cold  and  pitiless  Norns,  who  weave  and 
break  the  destinies  of  men,  and  water  the  tree  of  life 
from  the  fountain  where  float  the  heavenly  swans.  They 
water  the  tree  of  the  world's  life  ;  but  what  to  them  are 
the  lives  of  one  man  or  another  ?  Only  as  the  leaves  of 
the  tree  which  unfold  in  spring  and  fall  in  autumn.  The 
leaves  fall,  but  the  tree  lives  ;  and  the  Norns  are  content. 
The  world  is  their  care  ;  but  what  are  ive  to  them — what 
are  the  best  of  men  or  the  worst  ?  They  neither  love, 
nor  hate,  nor  pity,  nor  heed." 

Thus  Gudruna  made  her  death- wail  over  her  dead,  in 
the  night,  by  the  funeral  heap  which  covered  the  slain  of 
her  people,  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames  at  Reading.  Then, 
her  heart  growing  bitterer  as  she  spoke,  she  went  on — 

"  Nay,  it  is  not  ye  even,  cold  and  stately  Norns !  who 
have  robbed  me  of  my  joy,  the  only  shelter  of  my  orphan 
youth — of  him  who  was  to  me  both  father  and  mother. 
It  is  an  enemy  who  has  done  me  this  wrong.  It  is  Hela, 
the  death  goddess,  the  daughter  of  Loki,  the  father  of 
lies  and  misery.  It  is  Hela  and  Loki,  who  could  not 
endure  that  one  so  merciful  and  pitiful  should  enjoy  the 
light  of  the  sun — one  so  like  Balder  the  beautiful,  the 
brave,  and  gentle,  whom  the  gods  love,  and  they  the 
black-hearted  hate.  It  is  Hela  who  has  taken  thee,  my 
beloved,  my  father,  and  imprisoned  thee  in  her  dark  halls 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH- TELLER.  249 

within  her  barred  gates — Hela, '  whose  table  is  hunger, 
whose  servant  is  delay,  whose  knife  is  starvation,  whose 
threshold  is  the  precipice  of  sudden  woe,  whose  bed  is 
care,  and  whose  chambers  are  hung  with  burning  anguish/ 
But  I  rave  I"  she  exclaimed,  suddenly  bursting  into  an- 
other strain  ;  "  didst  thou  not  die  in  battle  ?  The  halls 
of  Hela  are  not  for  thee.  Skuld  the  future,  youngest 
and  fairest  of  the  Norns,  has  chosen  thee  from  the  battle- 
field. Thou  feastest  in  Walhalla  among  the  heroes,  in 
the  dwellings  of  Odin  ;  thou  feastest  on  the  boar  Saehrim- 
nir,  ever  slain  and  ever  renewed,  and  drinkest  the  milk 
of  the  goat  Heidrun,  better  than  mead.  Thy  days  are 
glad  with  the  joys  of  the  fight,  and  thy  nights  with  the 
joys  of  feasting." 

Then  she  paused,  and  burst  into  uncontrollable  tears. 

"  But  we  who  loved  thee,  thinkest  thou  of  us  ?"  she 
moaned.  "  Walhalla  would  scarcely  be  home  to  thee 
without  thy  child.  And  Balder,  gentlest  and  best  be- 
loved of  the  godsr  is  no  longer  there.  Loki  has  banished 
him  to  the  dark  kingdom  of  Hela.  When  will  Balder 
the  good  return  ?  Then  Walhalla  might  be  like  home, 
and  there  would  be  some  one  to  listen  when  we  pray ; 
not  only  when  heroes  pray,  but  we,  even  poor  desolate 
maidens  and  orphans  such  as  I  am." 

Her  last  words  did  not  fall  only  on  the  ears  of  the 
dead.  Hilda  had  followed  her,  and  kneeling  beside 
her,  drew  the  poor  child  to  her,  murmuring  softly  and 
half  unconsciously  the  words  that  had  been  in  her  heart 
since  she  heard  of  Sidroc's  death — "  In  that  ye  did  it  to 
the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  did  it  unto  Me !" 

Gudruna  suffered  herself  to  be  led  from  the  grave,  and 
through  the  night  the  two  women  sat  watching  together 
in  the  tent. 

11* 


250 


THE  EARLY  DAWK 


After  a  long  silence,  Gudruna  said  : 

"  Hilda,  what  wo^ds  were  those  you  breathed  over  my 
father's  grave  ?" 

"  They  are  the  words  of  Christ,"  was  the  reply,  "  the 
gracious,  compassionate  Lord,  who  was  once  slain  through 
the  arts  of  the  father  of  lies,  and  imprisoned  in  the  dark 
dwelling  of  death  ;  but  who  has  burst  the  iron  gates,  and 
ascended  into  heaven,  where  he  reigns  for  evermore,  and 
looks  on  us  and  pities  us,  and  heals  and  saves  us  if  we 
call  on  him." 

"But  what  made  you  think  of  those  words?"  said 
Gudruna. 

"  They  are  in  my  mind  constantly,  since  the  good  Earl 
Sidroc  was  slain,"  replied  Hilda.  "  I  think  of  his  kind- 
ness to  the  child  at  Croyland — the  one  who  had  courage 
to  be  pitiful  among  the  pitiless  ;  and  I  think  it  will  not 
be  forgotten." 

Gudruna  said  no  more  ;  but  she  kissed  Hilda  tenderly, 
and  lay  down,  for  the  first  time  since  her  bereavement, 
to  sleep. 

In  the  morning,  when  Hilda  awoke,  Gudruna  was 
standing  in  the  morning  sunlight  at  the  door  of  the  tent, 
looking,  Hilda  thought,  like  one  of  the  virgin  goddesses 
of  whom  she  used  to  speak — Fulla,  the  darling  of  Frigga, 
queen  of  heaven,  who  glides  through  the  golden  halls, 
with  her  fair  hair  flowing  round  her,  bound  with  a  golden 
fillet.  So  fair  and  bright  did  Gudruna  seem,  leaning 
against  the  door  of  the  tent,  with  her  fair  hair  clustering 
in  wavy  tresses  from  the  golden  ribbon  which  bound  it, 
her  large  violet  eyes  looking  out  to  the  dawn. 

Hilda  softly  uttered  her  name ;  and  then  the  maiden 
turned  to  her,  and  kneeling  beside  her,  said — 

"  I  have  had  a  golden  dream.    I  thought  I  stood  be- 


ALFRED  TEE  TRUTH-TELLER.  2Si 

fore  the  black  gates  of  Hela,  the  death  goddess,  weeping 
bitterly,  because  none  could  burst  those  heavy  bars  ; 
when  softly,  without  a  sound,  or  the  touch  of  any  hand,  I 
could  see  the  gates  flung  asunder  and  opened  wide  j  and 
through  them  came  a  flood  of  light,  as  if  it  had  been  Wal- 
halla,  and  not  hell,  that  was  opened.  As  I  gazed,  how- 
ever, I  saw  that  all  the  light  beamed,  not  from  those 
dark  halls,  but  from  the  glorious  being  who  came  forth 
from  them.  His  face  and  his  raiment  were  brighter  than 
the  sun.  Yet  it  was  not  the  light  that  filled  my  heart 
with  joy  when  I  saw  him  ;  it  was  the  look  in  his  eyes. 
He  looked  at  me.  I  knelt  at  his  feet,  and  said, '  Balder ! 
Balder !  the  beautiful  and  the  good  \'  But  he  pointed  to 
the  sky,  and  rose  into  the  heights,  and  vanished  from  my 
sight.  Then  I  seemed  to  hear,  floating  down  on  me  in 
tones  of  the  most  joyous  music,  the  name,  not  of  Balder, 
but  of  Christ.    And  so  I  awoke." 

Hilda  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  said — 

"  It  is  very  strange.  Can  it  be  possible  that  that  lost 
god  of  your  fathers,  so  beautiful,  and  good,  and  beloved, 
was  like  a  fair  dream  in  their  night,  to  point  them  to 
Christ  the  Lord?" 

"  How  do  I  know  ?"  said  Gudruna  ;  "  but  my  dream  has 
filled  my  heart  with  comfort.  If  those  impenetrable  bars 
have  been  broken  once,  they  are  no  more  impenetrable." 

From  that  time  she  listened  with  ever-increasing  inter* 
est  to  all  Hilda  could  teach  her  of  Christianity, 

Not  long  afterwards,  at  the  Easter  time,  a  young  Da- 
nish maiden  stood  with  Hilda  the  Saxon  captive  among 
the  little  Christian  band  gathered  round  the  bier  of  St. 
Cuthbert  in  Northumbria. 

It  was  in  a  retired  glade  in  the  depths  of  a  forest,  far 
from  any  Danish  encampment.     Gudruna  and  Hilda  had 


25  2  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

secretly  found  their  way  thither,  at  some  peril,  through 
the  dusk  before  the  dawn. 

It  was  the  first  public  Christian  service  at  which  Hilda 
had  been  present  since  her  captivity,  and  the  first  Gud- 
runa  had  ever  attended. 

Both  women  were  deeply  moved  as  they  listened  to 
the  prayers  and  the  hymns  of  praise  chanted  to  the  grave 
Gregorian  music. 

All  the  past  came  back  on  Hilda  in  a  flood  of  memo- 
ries— the  chants  of  the  slaughtered  nuns  at  Canterbury, 
the  hymns  in  her  father's  ruined  home,  steeping  her  whole 
heart  in  that  mingled  tide  of  unutterable  feelings  which 
sacred  music  can  unseal. 

But  to  Gudruna  all  was  new.  Rapt  at  first  into  a 
mysterious  awe  and  tenderness  by  these  solemn  and 
pathetic  chants,  every  faculty  of  her  being  awoke  as  she 
listened  to  the  words  of  the  Gospel  for  the  day — after- 
wards read  in  Anglo-Saxon  by  the  priest.  It  was  one  of 
the  narratives  of  the  resurrection. 

She  heard  of  the  empty  sepulchre  and  the  risen  Lord  ; 
but  when  for  the  first  time  she  listened  to  the  story  of 
her  who  sat  still  by  the  sepulchre  weeping,  entreating 
but  to  be  suffered  to  bury  the  lost  dead,  her  lost  Lord, 
until  at  last  the  dulness  of  her  hopeless  sorrow  was 
pierced  by  that  voice  uttering  her  name,  and  all  her  heart 
burst  forth  in  that  "  Rabboni,"  Gudruna  turned  to  Hilda 
and  whispered — 

"  It  is  my  dream !  it  is  my  dream !  He  is  risen  indeed, 
and  has  spoken  also  to  me — even  to  me." 

Silently  the  two  women  returned  through  the  forest  to 
the  Danish  encampment — silently,  but  heart  bound  to 
heart  by  ties  stronger  than  those  of  nation  or  kindred  ; 
even  by  the  might  of  that  redeeming  name. 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  253 

II. 

SEVEN"  years  h«*d  passed  away  since  the  death  of  Sid- 
roc  the  Earl — years  of  pitiless  pillage  and  feeble 
truces.  Year  after  year  in  the  chronicles  of  the  time  we 
read,  "  the  West  Saxons  made  peace  with  the  army  f 
"  the  Mercians  made  peace  with  the  army ;"  and  then, 
immediately  afterwards,  of  that  same  indestructible  army 
"  taking  up  winter-quarters  at  London,  in  Lindsey,  at 
Ripton,  by  the  river  Tyne,"  subduing  the  whole  midland 
country,  driving  helpless  King  Burhred  from  Mercia  to 
die  at  Rome.  What  was  meant  by  the  Danish  army  tak- 
ing up  winter-quarters,  or  "  sitting  down  for  a  year  "  in 
any  place,  the  famines  and  pestilences  which  follow  may 
explain.  Having  drained  all  the  joy  and  life  out  of  a 
district,  that  terrible  army  abandoned  it  for  a  time,  till 
the  desert  they  had  made  should  once  more,  in  the  course 
of  years,  gather  prosperity  enough  to  make  it  worth  while 
to  plunder  it  again. 

With  pity,  which  in  its  helplessness  was  almost  bitterer 
than  the  woes  it  wept,  Hilda  and  Gudruna  watched  that 
army  in  its  desolating  course.  They  could  only  now  and 
then  creep  out  to  the  field  of  carnage,  which  the  victori- 
ous Danes  so  often  held,  on  the  night  after  the  fight,  and 
dress  the  wounds  and  relieve  the  dying  thirst  of  some 
Christian  sufferer  there,  surprising  the  dying  into  thanks- 
givings with  unlooked-for  words  of  Christian  faith  and 
hope.  Their  own  faith  made  them  objects  of  suspicion 
in  the  camp.  Their  movements  were  jealously  watched, 
and  nothing  but  the  honour  in  which  the  memory  of  the 
Earl  Sidroc  was  held  sheltered  their  own  lives.  Often 
they  spoke  of  flight ;  but  whither  could  they  flee  ?  The 
monasteries  were  levelled  to  the  dust,  the  walls  of  the 


254  THE  EABLY  DAWN. 

cities  were  broken  down,  and  for  a  Christian  Danish 
maiden  there  was  no  refuge  either  among  Saxons  or 
Danes. 

One  name,  however,  gradually  rose  into  distinctness  to 
the  ear  of  Hilda,  among  the  multitudes  of  captains.  "  In 
the  summer  of  875,  King  Alfred  went  out  to  sea  with  a 
fleet,  and  fought  against  the  forces  of  seven  ships,  and 
one  of  them  he  took,  and  put  the  rest  to  flight."  The 
name  which  had  been  most  loudly  cursed  by  the  Danish 
fugitives  from  Ashdune  began  to  be  honoured  constantly 
by  their  angry  murmurs.  The  first  victory  at  sea,  as 
well  as  the  first  victory  on  land,  was  attributed  to  Alfred. 
Great  was  the  excitement  in  the  Danish  camp  at  the 
tidings  of  this  defeat  on  their  own  element.  Their  whole 
attention  began  to  be  directed  to  the  kingdom  of  this 
daring  young  chief.  The  patriot  had  succeeded  in  turn- 
ing their  fury  on  himself. 

The  next  year  "  the  army  stole  away  to  Wareham,  in 
Dorsetshire,  a  fortress  of  the  West  Saxons.  And  after- 
wards the  king  made  peace  with  the  army,  and  they  de- 
livered to  the  king  hostages  from  among  the  most  dis- 
tinguished men  in  the  army  ;  and  then  they  swore  oaths 
to  him  on  the  holy  ring,  which  they  never  would  do  be- 
fore to  any  nation,  that  they  would  speedily  depart  the 
kingdom.  And,  notwithstanding  this,  that  part  of  the 
army  which  was  horsed,  stole  away  by  night  from  the 
fortress  to  Exeter."  Yet  the  king  trusted  them  again, 
the  "  Truth-teller  "  himself,  and  generously  incapable  of 
believing  that  other  men  would  not  be  true.  In  877, 
again,  one  hundred  and  twenty  of  their  ships  were 
wrecked  at  Swanwith.  King  Alfred  and  his  horsemen 
chased  the  army  to  Exeter.  Then  again,  more  hostages, 
"  as  many  as  he  would,"  and  many  oaths.    And  in  a  few 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  255 

months  again,  oaths  forsworn,  and  rapine  and  slaughter. 
"In  878,  during  mid-winter,  after  Twelfth  Night,  the 
army  stole  away  to  Chippenham,  and  overran  the  land 
of  the  West  Saxons,  and  sat  down  there  ;  and  many  of 
the  people  they  drove  beyond  sea  ;  and  of  the  remainder, 
the  greater  part  they  subdued  and  forced  to  obey  them, 
except  King  Alfred ;  and  he,  with  a  small  band,  with 
difficulty  retreated  to  the  woods  and  the  fastnesses  of  the 
moors." 

Into  these  few  lines  does  the  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle 
compress  the  story  of  unutterable  misery,  and  of  indomi- 
table courage  ;  of  a  whole  people  broken  and  subdued,  a 
land  wasted  and  ruined,  the  bravest  exiles  beyond  the 
seas,  the  rest  hopelessly  "  harrowing  and  toiling  "  for  an 
army  whose  glory  it  was  to  consider  all  work  menial  ex- 
cept the  work  of  the  locust  and  the  vulture  ;  until  at  last 
all  were  subdued  except  only  King  Alfred,  and  he  aban- 
doned by  court  and  people. 

Once  more  the  captive  Hilda  kept  her  sleepless  watch 
in  the  Danish  camp  near  Glastonbury,  in  the  heart  of 
plundered  Wessex,  looking  out  on  the  midnight  lit  up 
into  a  lurid  glow  by  the  fires  of  the  burning  villages  and 
homesteads,  where  the  corpses  of  her  murdered  country- 
men had  found  a  funeral  pile  among  the  blackened  ruins 
of  their  homes*.     Gudruna  stood  by  her. 

"The  deliverer  has  come,"  said  Hilda,  with  bitter 
tears.  "  God  sent  him,  and  my  people  have  not  known 
him.  They  have  rejected  the  deliverer,  and  accepted 
the  bondage.  Henceforth  there  is  nothing  left  but  to 
bow  to  the  yoke,  and  to  look  for  the  better  country, — ■ 
the  heavenly." 

The  long  pressure  of  trial,  those  seven  years  of  hope 
deferred,  and  at  last  thus  crushed,  began  to  tell  on  Hil- 


256  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

da's  spirit  as  well  as  on  her  hollow  cheek  and  emaciated 
frame.  But  those  same  seven  years  had  matured  Gud- 
runa  from  the  bright  impulsive  girl  into  the  thoughtful 
steadfast-hearted  Christian  woman.  She  had  proved 
the  strengthening  power  of  the  services  of  love  to  those 
who  serve ;  and  without  attempting  to  use  words  of 
comfort,  she  gently  led  Hilda  before  dawn,  attended  by 
one  faithful  old  servant  of  her  father's,  to  a  field  near 
the  camp,  where,  on  the  day  before,  there  had  been  a 
skirmish. 

Through  all  the  field  of  carnage  they  went,  but  heard 
no  moan,  so  well  had  the  work  of  slaughter  been  accom- 
plished, until  as  they  were  turning  from  the  sight  of  hor- 
ror which  nothing  but  prayer  and  the  hope  of  giving  re- 
lief to  the  sufferers  could  have  nerved  them  to  endure, 
in  passing  the  ruined  wall  of  a  farm-house  around  which 
the  fight  had  raged,  they  caught  a  feeble  sound,  which,  as 
they  stood  still  and  listened,  they  perceived  was  not  a 
moan  nor  even  a  plaint,  but  a  prayer, — words  spoken  to 
One  who  listened. 

It  was  the  102d  Psalm,  "  the  prayer  of  the  afflicted 
when  he  is  overwhelmed  and  poureth  out  his  complaint 
before  the  Lord." 

Hilda  drew  in  her  breath  and  listened,  each  of  the 
words  dropping  like  balm  into  her  heart,  in  her  own  An- 
glo-Saxon tongue : 

"  Hide  not  thy  face  from  me  when  I  am  in  trouble 
My  days  are  like  a  shadow, 
But  thou,  0  Lord,  shalt  endure  for  ever ; 
Thou  shalt  arise,  and  have  mercy  upon  Zion : 
For  the  time  to  favour  her,  yea,  the  set  time,  is  come. 
So  shall  the  heathen  fear  the  name  of  the  Lord, 
And  all  the  kings  of  the  earth  thy  glory. 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  257 

He  will  regard  the  prayer  of  the  destitute ; 

For  he  hath  looked  down  from  the  height  of  his  sanctuary ; 

From  heaven  did  the  Lord  behold  £he  earth ; 

To  hear  the  groaning  of  the  prisoner ; 

To  loose  those  that  are  appointed  unto  death." 

A  power  she  could  not  resist  drew  her  to  the  voice, 
and  motioning  to  Gudruna  to  remain  where  she  was,  she 
crept  round  the  wall — 

4 'To  loose  those  that  are  appointed  unto  death," 

she  murmured,  taking  up  the  last  words  the  wounded 
man  had  spoken. 

Then  kneeling  down  beside  him,  she  found  that  the 
danger  of  his  wounds  lay  chiefly  in  the  loss  of  blood  they 
occasioned.  These  were  many,  but  none  of  them  mortal, 
and  with  bandages  of  linen,  and  the  simple  medicaments 
of  the  good  Samaritan,  "  pouring  in  oil  and  wine,"  in  an 
hour  or  two  the  sufferer  was  much  relieved. 

"  I  have  not  felt  a  touch  so  gentle  since  my  mother's," 
he  said  ;  and  then  flowed  out  those  recollections  of  home 
which  so  crowd  on  the  heart  when  the  body  is  brought 
down  by  weakness. 

Hilda  listened  at  first  with  the  compassionate  interest 
of  one  who  had  long  ceased  to  have  any  hopes  and  fears 
of  her  own.  Her  life  history  had  closed,  it  seemed, 
twenty  years  ago,  when  she  had  been  carried  away  a  cap- 
tive exile,  a  friendless  orphan  to  be  a  mere  "  thing  n  in 
the  household  of  a  stranger,  a  mere  accessory  to  the  life 
of  others.  Bitter  as  the  lot  had  been  at  first,  she  had 
long  acquiesced  in  it,  and  had  grown  not  merely  pas- 
sively to  exist,  but  actively  and  vividly  to  live  to  the  life 
of  those  around  her,  really  to  mourn  in  their  sorrows,  and 
really  to  rejoice  in  their  joys. 


258  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

But  deef  in  her  heart,  unknown  to  herself,  lay  the  old 
fountain  of  natural  ■'  affection,  and  one  touch  of  that 
wounded  man's  suddenly  rolled  away  the  stone  from  the 
brink. 

"  Never  have  I  known  such  care  as  this,"  he  said,  "  since 
my  mother  dressed  a  wound  I  had  received  in  hunting 
on  the  last  evening  I  ever  saw  her,  before  I  went  to  res- 
cue my  sister  in  the  nunnery  at  Canterbury." 

"  Bertric !"  she  exclaimed. 

And  the  wounded  man's  arm  was  folded  round  her, 
as  she  leant  sobbing  joyful,  thankful  tears  on  his  breast. 

Then  remembering  Gudruna  and  the  peril  in  "which  a 
longer  stay  might  involve  them,  Hilda  went  to  the  other 
side  of  the  wall,  where  she  was  waiting,  and  telling  her 
in  a  word  the  discovery  she  had  made,  led  her  to  Ber- 
tric's  side. 

"  This  is  the  comforter  God  has  given  me  all  through 
my  long  captivity,  Bertric,"  she  said,  in  a  broken  voice, 
"  Gudruna,  the  daughter  of  Sidroc." 

"  Of  Sidroc,  the  merciful,  who  saved  the^  child  at  Croy- 
land  ?"  he  said,  "  the  merciful  Lord  bless  thee,  lady,  and 
show  thee  kindness,  as  thou  and  thine  have  shown  kind- 
ness to  me  and  mine." 

And  raising  himself,  he  reverently  took  her  hand  and 
kissed  it. 

"  She  is  a  Christian,"  murmured  Hilda. 

"  Then  God  has  given  thee  a  better  vengeance  on  the 
oppressor  than  I,  my  sister,"  Bertie  said.  "  Better,  as 
the  old  monk  of  Lindisfarne  said,  to  win  one  foe  to  Christ 
than  to  slay  thousands." 

A  brief  consultation  decided  what  step  they  should 
take  next. 

The  morning  war  fast  passing  into  day.    Hilda  could 


ALFRED  TEE  TRUTH-TELLER.  259 

not  leave  her  brother,  and  Gudruna  could  not  safely 
linger,  if  she  was  to  return  to  the  camp  at  all.  Hilda's 
first  thought  was  that  neither  of  them  should  ever  return, 
but  remaining  together,  seek  some  place  of  refuge  in 
common.     But  to  this  Gudruna  would  not  consent. 

"  They  would  search  diligently  for  me,"  she  said,  "  but 
might  perhaps  be  content  to  let  you  escape.  My  flight 
would  double  your  danger.  Besides,"  she  added,  "  I  am 
a  Dane,  and  I  cannot  separate  myself  from  the  fortunes 
of  my  father's  people." 

Hilda  pleaded  the  solitude  of  Gudruna's  life  as  the 
only  Christian  in  the  Danish  camp,  the  pain  it  would  be 
to  her  to  part  from  one  who  had  been  to  her  as  a  child 
and  a  sister,  and  yet  the  impossibility  of  abandoning  her 
wounded  brother.    But  Gudruna  said — 

"  I  shall  not  be  more  alone  than  thou  wert  for  years. 
Christians,  we  know,  are  never  alone  ;  and  besides,"  she 
continued,  with  a  kindling  eye,  "  how  do  I  know  that  I 
am  the  only  Christian  among  my  people,  or  that  if  I  am, 
I  may  always  be  so  ?" 

"  The  lady  Gudruna  is  right,"  said  Bertric,  firmly,  "  the 
noblest  course  is  the  right  one,  and  she  has  chosen  it." 

Once  the  women  embraced  each  other,  and  then  Gud- 
runa inclining  her  head  courteously  to  Bertric,  drew  her 
linen  veil  closely  round  her,  and  moved  rapidly  away. 
His  eyes  followed  the  retreating  figure  until  she  disap- 
peared behind  the  broken  wall,  then  he  said  to  Hilda — 

"  If  ever  the  tide  should  turn,  and  a  Saxon  court  be  a 
refuge  for  a  Danish  maiden  ! — But  now  she  is  safer  whe^ 
she  is.  She  is  noble  in  every  word,  and  look,  and  move- 
ment.    Her  heart  has  moulded  her  face  and  form." 

A  shadow  passed  over  his  face,  and  for  a  moment  a 
happy  dream  flitted  through  Hilda's  mind,  but  the  next 


26o  THE  EARL T  DA  WK 

instant,  glancing  on  her  pale  and  suffering  brother,  and 
looking  on  the  wasted  fields  around  them,  all  dreams, 
and  well-nigh  all  hopes,  vanished  before  the  hard  reality 
of  their.position. 

"  How  can  the  tide  ever  turn,  brother  ?"  she  said.  "  Is 
not  Alfred  lost  ?  Has  not  God  sent  our  people  the  de- 
liverer, and  have  they  not  disowned  him  ?" 

"  God  has  not  disowned  him,"  was  the  reply.  "  Is  it 
not  written  that  in  the  wilderness  Moses  was  trained  for 
his  work,  and  from  the  wilderness  he  came  forth  to  do  it." 

"  You  think,  then,  there  may  yet  be  hope,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  heard  King  Alfred  pray  /"  he  said,  "  and  I 
have  seen  how  God  answered  him.  Never  shall  I  forget 
the  morning  when  we  missed  him  from  the  chase  in  Corn- 
wall, and  at  last  I  found  his  horse  fastened  to  a  stone 
outside  the  little  chapel  in  the  rocky  valley  of  St.  Guerir, 
among  the  moors.  Within  I  heard  a  voice  pleading 
fervently  with  God.  '  Any  suffering  thou  wilt !'  was  the 
burden  of  the  prayer,  '  only  strengthen  me  against  sin. 
Any  suffering  but  such  as  might  disable  me  from  serving 
the  people !'  The  morning  sunbeams  slanted  through  the 
small  eastern  window  on  the  prince's  form  as  he  knelt 
prostrate  before  the  altar.  I  deemed  it  treachery  to 
listen  any  longer,  and  mounting  my  horse,  I  rode  silently 
up  the  hill-side,  and  bid  the  rest  of  the  company  wait  for 
the  prince.  .It  was  nothing  new  to  us  that  he  should 
thus  seize  an  interval  for  solitary  prayer  ;  but  there  was 
something  new  in  the  light  that  beamed  in  his  noble  and 
earnest  face  when  he  rejoined  us,  at  least  I  thought  so. 
And  all  day,  as  we  pursued  the  chase,  the  prince  foremost 
among  us,  I  felt  as  those  must  feel  who,  according  to  old 
legends,  have  seen  heavenly  saints  mingling  in  the  fight, 
and  leading  them  on.    Since  then  he  has  become  king, 


ALFRED  TEE  TRUTH-TELLER.  261 

and  some  have  complained  bitterly  of  his  bearing  to  his 
people.  They  say  he  is  impatient  and  severe,  not  willing 
to  hearken  to  complaints,  and  bent  on  carrying  out  his 
own  plans  at  any  cost  to  any  one.  It  may  be  so  in  some 
measure.  One  who  risks  everything  of  his  own  may 
claim  too  rigidly  that  others  should  do  the  same.  One 
who  sees  with  such  a  quick  glance  to  the  heart  of  a  mat- 
ter may  be  impatient  of  the  slowness  of  others.  One 
who  sees  his  country  in  ruins,  and  is  spending  life  to  re- 
store it,  may  be  severe  with  the  selfish  murmurings  of 
those  who,  while  rescued  from  a  burning  city,  complain 
that  the  deliverer  has  pinched  their  fingers  in  the  rescue." 

"  You  think,  then,  the  king  is  blameless,  and  must  tri- 
umph in  the  end  ?" 

"  I  do  not  think  the  king  is  blameless,"  was  the  reply, 
"  nor  can  I  be  sure  whether  God  will  glorify  him  with 
the  crown  of  the  victor  or  with  that  of  the  martyr.  But 
I  am  sure  he  is  the  noblest  man  England  has  seen  for 
centuries  ;  and  I  am  sure  God  is  training  him  to  be  no- 
bler yet.  And  I  know  King  Alfred  lives  still,  and  while 
he  lives,  lives  for  England,  and  therefore  I  cannot  de- 
spair." 

He  spoke  so  eagerly  that  Hilda  began  to  wonder 
whether  her  medicaments,  or  the  king's  name  were  work- 
ing these  wonders,  and  whether  he  might  venture  to 
walk.  He  tried,  and,  with  her  help,  crept  across  the 
fields  to  the  entrance  of  a  forest  which  stretched  for 
many  miles  around  them  ;  but  there  his  strength  failed, 
and  he  could  scarcely  move  a  step  further.  She  dreaded 
the  efiects  of  another  night  in  the  winter  air  on  her 
brother's  wounds,  and  pressed  on  a  few  yards  deeper 
into  the  wood,  across  the  top  of  a  little  hill,  when  Bertric 
said, — 


262  TEE  EARL Y  DA  WK 

"  I  see  there  a  wood-cutter's  hut.  I  know  the  man. 
If  we  can  reach  it,  we  are  safe." 

And  before  night-fall  they  were  sheltered  under  the 
friendly  roof. 

III. 

AS  Bertric's  wounds  healed,  his  one  intense  desire 
became  to  rejoin  the  king,  who,  he  believed,  was 
concealed  in  some  of  the  neighbouring  forests.  His 
eagerness  hindered  his  recovery.  In  spite  of  Hilda's 
remonstrances,  he  insisted  on  leaving  the  wood-cutter's 
hut  while  his  wounds  were  scarcely  healed.  As  they 
wandered  through  the  marshy  forests,  wet,  and  cold,  and 
insufficiently  fed,  a  low  fever  seized  his  weakened  frame, 
and  they  were  once  more  obliged  to  seek  refuge  under 
the  roof  of  a  peasant. 

The  owner  of  the  hut  was  absent  when  they  reached 
it,  leading  his  herd  of  swine  to  their  pasture  among  the 
acorns,  and  the  wife  did  not  welcome  them  very  cordially. 
"  The  times  were  very  bad,"  she  said ;  "  and  they  had 
enough  to  do  to  feed  themselves,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
stranger  that  was  under  their  roof  already.  If  they 
liked,  they  might  warm  themselves  by  the  fire ;  b>ut  as 
to  the  rest,  she  could  promise  nothing  until  Denewulf  her 
husband  came  home." 

Bertric  was  too  ill  for  Hilda  to  be  repelled  by  mere 
discourtesy  of  manner,  and  she  thankfully  availed  herself 
of  the  permission.  But,  as  she  sat  beside  her  brother, 
she  smiled  inwardly  to  see  how  the  good  woman  (while 
carrying  on  a  continuous  grumble  about  the  times,  and 
the  unreasonable  claims  made  on  poor  people,  and  the 
inconvenience  of  strangers  wandering  idly  about  the 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER  263 

country,  expecting  others  to  give  them  food),  nevertheless 
piled  up  the  fire,  and  brought  a  sheep-skin  to  throw  over 
Bertric,  and,  finally,  prepared  him  some  savoury  broth, 
which  she  peremptorily  insisted  on  his  swallowing. 

Denewulf  the  swine-herd  soon  returned,  and  then  their 
welcome  was  secure.  The  good  woman  asked  when  their 
other  guest  would  return,  but  Denewulf  could  not  tell 
her. 

"  Hast  thou  found  out  who  he  is  ?" 

"  He  is  no  common  man,"  was  the  evasive  reply.  "  A 
day  of  his  talk  is  worth  a  year's  schooling  from  the 
monks,  when  monks  there  were." 

"  Common  man  or  no,"  said  the  housewife,  "  matters 
little  to  us.  He  eats  and  drinks  for  all  I  can  see,  like 
any  of  us  common  folk  ;  and  food  and  drink  are  not  so 
plentiful  in  these  days." 

"  Dost  thou  grudge  the  food,  wife  ?"  he  said.  "  Re- 
member the  old  monks7  lessons.  '  He  that  giveth  to  the 
poor  lendeth  to  the  Lord.'  " 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  "  he  is  welcome  to  the  meat  for  that ; 
but  I  like  not  to  see  thee  toil  thy  life  away  that  strangers 
may  eat  in  idleness.  Between  the  Danes  and  these  wan- 
dering thanes,  there  is  little  left  for  such  as  we.  Thou 
canst  not  say  I  ever  grudged  a  sup  to  the  monks  ;  but 
the  days  are  evil,  and  it  is  long  since  I  heard  any  good 
words,  since  the  old  minster  was  burnt  and  the  good 
priests  scattered.  Dost  thou  think  the  stranger  may  be 
a  monk,  belike  ?" 

"  His  talk  is  wise  and  holy  as  any  monk's,"  was  the 
reply.  "  But  I  never  saw  a  monk  who  knew  so  much  of 
wild  animals,  of  the  chase,  and  war.  In  good  sooth,  he 
seemed  to  know  my  own  calling  as  well  as  I  do." 

The  next  morning,  Bertric  lay  in  a  delirious  fever  in 


264  THE  EARLY  DA  WK 

the  inner  chamber,  and  Hilda  was  sitting  beside  him,  when 
a  stranger  entered  the  outer  room.  The  housewife  wel- 
comed him  in  her  way,  with  rough  words  and  kind  deeds. 

"  Heaven  knows  how  long  we  may  have  enough  for 
ourselves  or  for  thee,"  she  said,  placing  bread  and  ale 
before  him.  "  Here  are  new  guests  arrived,  and  one  a 
sick  man — wounded,  the  woman  says,  in  a  skirmish  with 
the  Danes." 

A  voice  replied  in  low,  quiet  tones ;  but  the  moment 
Bertric  caught  them,  he  started  up  and  listened. 

The  next  moment  the  stranger  entered  the  inner  cham- 
ber, courteously  greeting  Hilda,  and  approached  the  straw 
couch  on  which  Bertric  lay.  Bertric  seized  his  hand  and 
kissed  it,  and  would  have  risen  from  the  couch,  but  he 
was  unable,  and  sank  fainting  back.  The  stranger  gently 
felt  his  hand,  and  recommended  some  concoction  of  herbs, 
which  the  housewife  brought. 

There  was  something  in  the  stranger's  manner  which 
at  once  made  Hilda  yield  to  his  directions,  and  gave  her 
a  kind  of  instinctive  confidence  that,  while  he  remained 
in  the  house,  all  would  go  well.  All  that  night  Bertric 
continued  delirious,  but  at  the  dawn  he  fell  asleep. 

For  a  few  hours  all  was  quiet,  when,  as  Hilda  sat 
watching  him,  dreading  any  sound  which  might  break 
that  healing  sleep,  she  was  greatly  disturbed  by  hearing 
the  sharp  voice  of  the  housewife  (to  whose  absence  she 
had  been  not  a  little  indebted  for  the  silence)  say  angri- 
ly, as-  she  re-entered  the  hut, — 

"  Why,  man,  do  you  sit  thinking  there,  and  are  too 
proud  to  turn  the  bread  ?  Whatever  be  your  family, 
with  such  manners  and  sloth,  what  trust  can  be  put  in 
you?  You  will  not  turn  the  bread  you  see  burning, 
though  you  will  be  very  glad  to  eat  it  when  done." 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  265 

Hilda  could  see  through  the  doorway  the  bread  on  the 
hearth,  while  the  stranger  tsat  beside  it,  mending  a  broken 
bow.  She  listened  in  terror,  dreading  a  louder  and  moro 
angry  reply ;  but  the  gentle  tones  of  the  other  voice 
were  as  calm  as  before.  The  stranger  she  was  reproach- 
ing seemed  to  be  gently  acknowledging  the  justice  of  the 
rebuke ;  and,  the  soft  answer  turning  away  wrath,  no 
altercation  followed. 

Bertric  did  not  awake  for  some  time  ;  he  only  moved 
in  his  sleep ;  but  when  he  woke,  and  looked  at  Hilda 
once  more,  with  grateful  eyes,  in  which  the  light  of  con- 
sciousness was  fully  restored,  the  first  words  he  said  were, 

"Where  is  the  king?" 

For  an  instant  Hilda  thought  his  mind  was  still  wan- 
dering ;  then  suddenly  the  truth  flashed  on  her,  and  she 
brought  the  stranger  to  her  brother's  couch. 

From  that  day  Bertric  steadily  gained  strength,  and 
was  able  to  enter  into  King  Alfred's  plans  for  the  fu- 
ture. From  day  to  day,  one  and  another  of  the  king's 
faithful  followers  found  their  way  to  the  hut,  until  at 
length  it  was  decided  to  retire  to  the  island  of  Athelney, 
close  at  hand  among  the  marshes,  and  there  to  form  a 
camp  of  refuge. 


LENT  AT  ATHELNEY. 

LENT  was  wearing  fast  away  at  Athelney.  King 
Alfred  had  made  such  shelter  there  as  he  could  for 
his  wife  and  little  children,  with  one  or  two  brave  and 
patient  women  of  the  royal  family  who  chose  to  share 
the  perils  of  their  sovereign,  Joor  indeed  that  shelter 
was.  Not  three  months  since  they  had  kept  their  fes- 
12 


266  THE  EARL Y  DA  WK 

tive  Twelfth  Night  in  the  royal  palace  of  Chippenham  ; 
and  now,  without  kingdom,  without  army,  almost  with- 
out subjects,  the  queen  and  the  royal  children  were 
thankful  to  find  a  refuge  in  a  hut  scarcely  raised  above 
the  marshy  lowlands  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Parret. 
Yet,  in  the  hearts  of  all  around  the  king  there  was  a 
power  of  renewed  life,  as  strong  as  that  which,  invisibly 
but  irresistibly,  was  flowing  upwards  through  every  brown 
branch  and  twig  of  the  willows  and  alders  around  them. 
Not  one  visible  augury  of  the  better  days  coming  for 
England  was  to  be  seen  in  the  land  around  them,  any 
more  than  in  the  grey,  colourless  copses  of  low,  stunted 
trees  which  rose  here  and  there  on  little  grey  hillocks, 
above  the  reedy  green  of  the  marshes,  or  in  the  alder 
groves  which  fringed  the  sluggish  streams  as  they  crept 
round  Athelney.  No  time  had  been  spent  on  construct- 
ing dwelling-houses.  All  the  labour  of  the  few  hands 
they  could  muster,  and  all  the  scanty  building  materials 
they  could  gather,  had  been  spent  on  a  rude  fortress, 
which  guarded  the  only  bridge  by  which  access  was  to 
be  obtained  to  their  little  isle  of  refuge. 

One  evening  in  Passion  Week,  Hilda  sat  at  the 
threshold  of  the  wooden  hut  where  she  and  her  brother 
lived,  anxious  to  catch  the  last  light  for  her  spinning  j 
for  candles  were  scarcely  to  be  had,  and  clothing  was  as 
scarce  as  food. 

As  she  span,  she  chanted  softly  to  herself  an  old  hymn 
on  the  Passion  : — 


HYMNUM  DECAMUS  DOMINO. 

Come,  let  us  sfag  unto  the  Lord, 
A  song  of  highest  praise  to  God, 


ALFRED  TEE  TRUTH-TELLER.  267 

Who,  on  the  accursed  and  shameful  tree 
Redeemed  us  by  his  "blood. 

The  day  was  sinking  into  eve, 

(The  blessed  Lord's  betrayal  day,) 
When,  impious,  to  the  supper  came 
•      He  who  would  Christ  betray. 

Jesus,  at  that  last  supper,  then 
Tells  the  disciples  what  shall  be : 
"  For  one  of  you  betrayeth  me, 
Of  you  who  eat  with  me." 

Judas,  by  basest  greed  seduced, 

Seeks  to  betray  Him  with  a  kiss ; 
He,  as  a  meek  and  spotless  lamb, 

Denies  not  Judas  this. 

Thus,  for  some  thirty  counted  pence, 

The  impious  bargain  Judas  made, 
And  Christ,  the  harmless,  blameless  Lord, 

Is  to  the  Jews  betrayed. 

Pilate,  the  governor,  proclaimed, — 

"  Lo,  I  in  him  no  fault  can  find." 
Washing  in  water  then,  his  hands, 

Christ  to  his  foes  resigned. 

The  blinded  Jews  rejected  him, 

And  chose  a  murderer  instead, 
Of  Christ,  "  Let  him  be  crucified  I" 

With  bitter  spite  they  said. 

Barabbas  then  is  freed,  as,  bound, 

Guilty  and  doomed  to  death  he  lies ; 
And  the  world's  Life  is  crucified, 

Through  whom  the  dead  arise. 

As  the  whole  story  of  wrong  and  ingratitude,  patient, 
voluntary  suffering,  and  redeeming  sacrifice  came  before 


268  THE  EARL Y  DA  WK 

her  in  those  simple  words,  her  distaff  fell  from  her  hands, 
and  her  hanjis  were  clas'ped  on  her  knees,  and  she  sat 
gazing  across  that  wild  landscape,  not  consciously  looking 
at  any  part  of  it,  yet  its  desolate  loneliness,  and  the  slow, 
steady  wailing  of  the  March  wind  across  the  marshes, 
insensibly  blending  with  her  meditations.        • 

"  Thou  hast  borne  the  cross  for  us,"  she  thought,  "  and 
we  are  thy  redeemed.  Thou  hast  borne  the  cross  before 
us,  and  we  are  Thy  disciples.  Oh  that  for  us,  and  above 
all  for  that  royal  heart  which  has  already  suffered  so 
much,  submission  to  our  heavenly  Father's  will  may 
transfigure  suffering  into  sacrifice !  It  is  the  submission 
of  the  will,  which  can  only  be  proved  by  suffering,  and 
not  the  suffering  itself  in  which  Thou  delightest.  \  Is  not 
the  king  submissive  ?  And  will  not  his  sorrow  soon  be 
turned  into  joy  ?" 

As  she  mused,  a  man  came  towards  her  hut  in  the 
dusk,  with  a  pilgrim's  dress  and  wallet.  He  seemed 
weary  and  emaciated,  and  she  wished  her  brother  was 
returned,  with  the  rest  of  the  warriors,  from  the  foray 
they  had  gone  forth  that  morning  to  make  against  a  force 
of  Danes  reported  to  be  near,  that  she  might  have  bread 
to  give  the  poor  wanderer. 

"  Would  that  I  had  a  crust  in  the  house  to  offer  thee," 
she  said. 

But  the  pilgrim  smiled  and  replied — 

"  I  have  just  received  half  a  loaf  from  him  who  bides 
in  the  hut  yonder." 

And  crossing  himself,  he  passed  on,  with  a  benediction 
on  her. 

"  It  was  the  king,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  and  it  must 
have  been  his  last  loaf.  I  wish  Bertric  were  come." 
Just  then  she  caught  the  tramp  of  horses'  feet  in  the  dis- 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  269 

tance.  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  foraging  part}r  returned 
across  the  bridge  into  the  island.  Their  foray  that  day- 
had  met  with  little  success.  But  the  king  met  them  with 
a  cheerful  mien  and  encouraging  words.  "  It  was  Lent, 
and  they  should  not  wish  to  break  their  fast  thoroughly 
before  Easter."  And  with  eager  interest  he  listened  to 
all  the  tidings  they  brought.  The  Danes  were  encamped 
in  scattered  bands  here  and  there  throughout  the  coun- 
try, plundering  in  detail  whatever  the  passage  of  their 
larger  armies  might  have  spared.  The  peasants  had 
scarcely  heart  to  trust  the  few  grains  left  them  to  the 
ground,  whose  harvests  the  oppressor  would  devour.  Yet 
there  was  a  kind  of  unquiet  expectation  through  the  coun- 
try (they  said)  not  quite  like  the  lifeless  submission  of  a 
few  weeks  since. 

The  Danes  kept  more  together,  as  if  uneasily  conscious 
that  they  were  no  longer  sole  possessors  of  a  ruined  and 
conquered  land.  One  peasant,  of  whom  they  sought 
tidings,  had  asked  if  they  were  the  band  who  rescued  his 
father's  homestead,  a  few  weeks  ago,  from  the  heathen 
plunderers.  Another  had  inquired  in  a  mysterious  whis- 
per of  Bertric  whether  it  could  possibly  be  true  that  the 
king  was  yet  alive. 

"  The  spring  is  not  come,"  said  Bertric  to  Hilda,  as 
they  sat  alone  in  the  hut  by  the  fire  of  dried  twigs  and 
branches  she  had  piled  up  for  him,  "  but  it  is  at  work  in 
secret." 

The  hope  in  the  king's  heart  had  spread  itself  to  every 
heart  of  the  little  band  around  him. 

The  Easter  morn  dawned  on  Athelney.  Few  birds 
greeted  it,  for  Easter  fell  very  early  that  year,  on  the 
23d  of  March.  ISTo  church-bells  pealed  forth  their  wel- 
come to  the  resurrection  morning  from  minster  or  village 


27o  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

church,  far  or  near.  Neither  minster  nor  village  church, 
scarcely  indeed  any  village,  was  left  in  the  land. 

As  Hilda  and  Bertric  rose  early  that  morning,  a  wintry 
silence  reigned  in  the  clear  cold  air  around  them.  The 
course  of  the  river  was  traced  by  a  blue  mist  slowly  creep- 
ing through  the  woods  and  marshes.  Here  and  there  a 
little  column  of  smoke  began  to  rise  from  a  lonely  herds- 
man's hut,  and  the  lowing  of  cattle  sounded  from  time  to 
time  through  those  marshy  lands  among  which  the  Danish 
plunderers  had  not  been  able,  or  had  not  been  tempted, 
to  penetrate. 

Yet  dreary  as  the  scene  and  the  landscape  were,  Hilda 
was  full  of  gladness. 

"  I  scarcely  know  how  it  is  my  heart  is  so  light  to-day," 
she  said  to  Bertric,  "  Easter  hymns  seem  ringing  through 
it,  for  the  first  time  since  our  nunnery  was  burnt,  with- 
out being  responded  to  by  the  bitter  wail  for  those  over 
whom  no  Christian  dirge  was  chanted.  Silent  as  the 
land  is,  to  me  there  seems  a  stir  of  distant  music  in  the 
air.  Every  bird  that  twitters  seems  to  say,  •  I  am  only 
the  first  of  a  countless  choir.'  Every  cold  wind  that 
sweeps  through  the  branches  seems  to  say, *■  Do  not  mis- 
judge me.  I  am  only  clearing  the  air  for  the  perfumes 
of  a  thousand  flowers.'  And  the  river  as  it  trickles  softly 
through  the  shallows  seems  to  say, '  Soon  you  will  not 
hear  me  for  the  pealing  of  the  minster  bells.' " 

As  she  spoke  the  king  passed  through  a  willow-copse 
near  them.  He  held  a  book  in  his  hand,  from  which  he 
seemed  reading.  Hilda  thought  she  heard  a  faint  mur- 
mur, and  saw  his  lips  moving  as  he  walked  on. 

"  It  is  the  little  book  with  Anglo-Saxon  Psalms,  and 
hymns  for  the  hours,  and  prayers,  which  he  always  car- 
ries in  his  bosom,"  said  Bertric  softlv.    "In  that  heart 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER. 


271 


God  has  kindled  the  light  which  shall  beam  summer  once 
more  on  all  the  land." 

"  Because  in  that  heart  is  treasured  the  Word  of  the 
King  of  kings,"  said  Hilda,  thoughtfully,  and  she  con- 
tinued in  the  words  of  the  ancient  Ambrosian  Easter 
hymn, — 

"  For  He,  the  strong  and  rightful  King, 
Death's  heavy  fetters  severing, 
Treads  'neath  his  feet  the  ancient  foe, 
Redeems  a  wretched  race  from  woe. 

Vainly  with  rocks  his  tomb  they  barred, 
While  Roman  guards  kept  watch  and  ward ; 
Majestic  from  the  spoiled  tomb, 
In  pomp  of  triumph,  He  is  come. 

Let4the  long  wail  at  length  give  place, 
The  groanings  of  a  sentenced  race ; 
The  shining  angels  as  they  speed, 
Proclaim,  '  The  Lord  is  risen  indeed.' " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Bertric,  "  the  darkness  of  the  cross 
endured  but  three  hours ;  the  darkness  of  the  sealed 
tomb  but  three  days.  And  Easter  morning  began  an 
eternity  of  light  and  life.  I  have  seen  Rome  in  ruins," 
he  continued,  "  around  the  tombs  of  the  martyred  apos- 
tles. And  I  have  seen  the  nations  who  ruined  Rome 
worship  the  God  of  the  martyrs  Rome  slew.  King  Al- 
fred fights  not  for  England  only,  but  for  Christianity. 
And  be  the  struggle  for  a  day  or  a  year,  or  a  century, 
the  triumph  will  be  infinitely  longer.  And  I  think  it  is 
near." 

A  few  days  afterwards  the  little  guerrilla-band  re- 
turned to  Athelney  from  a  successful  sally,  bringing  with 
them  store  of  provisions  for  men  and  cattle,  and  tidings 


272  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WX 

better  than  any  spoils.  The  copses  resounded  with  shouts 
of  victory  and  with  the  broken  thanksgivings  of  women 
weeping  for  joy,  as  the  warriors  told  how  the  Danes  had 
been  repulsed  from  the  feeble  walls  of  Kynewith,  a 
fortress  they  were  besieging  on  the  Taw  in  Devonshire, 
by  a  sally  of  Odun  the  Saxon  earl ;  the  fierce  leader 
Hubba,  son  of  Regnar  Lodbrok,  being  slain,  and  the 
raven-standard  taken. 

The  names  of  Regnar  Lodbrok  and  his  three  invincibly 
sons  were  known  on  all  the  coasts  of  England  and  France, 
as  names  of  more  than  mortal  terror.  The  death  of 
Hubba  was  far  more  than  the  mere  destruction  of  a  fe- 
rocious enemy ;  it  was  the  dissolution  of  a  paralysing 
spell  of  terror.  And  the  loss  of  the  raven-standard  was 
even  more  to  the  Danes  than  its  capture  to  the  Saxons. 
"Woven  in  one  day,  with  charms  and  songs  of  incantation 
by  the  three  maiden  daughters  of  Regnar  Lodbrok,  the 
terrible  raven-standard  spread  its  ominous  wings  over 
many  a  field  of  carnage. 

Full  of  courage  and  hope  that  night  were  the  little 
heroic  band  at  Athelney.  They  were  no  more  alone 
in  the  land !  England  was  awaking  from  the  stupor 
of  despair.  The  bird  of  Odin  had  turned  against  the 
Danes. 

The  Danish  army  was  encamped  at  Ethendune  in 
Somersetshire,  spreading  from  the  summit  of  a  hill  which 
they  had  entrenched  over  the  plain  below.  Near  it  they 
had  placed  their  women  and  wounded  in  a  fortress  for 
security.  The  days  were  passed  when  the  heathen  men 
could  roam  fearlessly  whither  they  would  throughout  the 
land.  Guthrum,  their  chief,  who  had  seized  the  throne 
of  the  martyred  Edmund  in  East  Anglia,  had  heard  ru- 
mours of  a  coming  army  of  the  Saxons,  which  made  him 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER. 


273 


vigilant,  although  no  Saxon  force  had  been  seen  such  as 
to  warrant  serious  apprehension. 

One  evening  as  Gudruna  joined  a  group  of  Danish 
maidens  in  the  fortress  near  Ethendune,  she  noticed  a 
"  hush"  pass  from  one  to  another  ;  and  silence  succeeded 
the  clatter  of  busy  tongues.  This  was  not  the  first  time 
her  coming  had  been  the  signal  for  such  a  pause.  She 
knew  she  was  regarded  with  suspicion  by  her  people  on 
account  of  her  Christian  faith,  and  she  bitterly  felt  the 
injustice. 

But  this  time  the  glances  directed  against  her  were 
unusually  black.  At  length  one  said  sarcastically,  "  Why 
conceal  the  tidings  from  the  Lady  Gudruna  ?  It  must 
give  her  joy  to  know  that  the  raven-standard  is  in  Chris- 
tian hands." 

.  "  It  is  no  joy  to  me,"  said  Gudruna,  gently,  "  to  hear 
that  my  people  are  overcome  by  the  Saxons  ;  but  it  would 
oe  joy  unspeakable  to  hear  that  they  laid  down  their 
arms  at  the  feet  of  Christ.  Am  not  I  the  daughter  of 
the  earl  Sidroc?" 

"  It  were  time  for  us  to  seek  some  other  gods,  truly," 
said  another  woman,  "  when  Odin  abandons  us.  Of  old, 
when  the  sacred  raven  but  drooped  in  the  fight,  the 
hearts  of  the  bravest  were  smitten ;  what  will  they  do 
now  it  has  gone  over  to  the  foe  ?  I  would  we  were  back 
by  my  father's  house  beside  the  sea  in  Norway." 

"  There  are  rumours  in  the  air,"  said  another.  "  Some 
have  heard  the  sounds  of  the  Saxon  horn  afar  off  in  the 
forests,  where  not  a  Saxon  troop  has  been  seen  for  years." 

"  And  others  say  King  Alfred,  who  won  the  fight  at 
Ashdune,  is  alive." 

"  Impossible  !     Was  he  not  slain  months  since  ?" 

"  All  thought  so,"  wrs  the  reply,  "  but  last  night  a 
12* 


274 


THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 


harper  came  into  our  camp  at  Ethendune,  and  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  table  of  king  Guthrum,  so  great  was  his 
skill,  and  so  many  old  songs  could  he  sing.  But  my  hus- 
band said  this  harper's  glance  seemed  to  him  all  the 
while  he  sang  to  have  more  of  the  quick  fire  of  war  in  it 
than  the  quiet  light  of  song,  and  after  dusk  he  saw  the 
stranger  cfeep  quietly  away,  looking  carefully  around 
him  on  all  sides.  And  my  husband,  who  was  at  Ashdune, 
says  there  was  something  in  the  harper's  eye  and  port 
which  reminded  him  of  Prince  Alfred,  who  met  the  Earls 
in  the  shock  of  battle  and  drove  them  back." 

Among  the  Saxons,  also,  strange  rumours  were  floating, 
rising,  as  among  the  tumults  of  the  people  is  so  often  the 
case,  no  one  knows  whence,  like  gusts  of  wind  in  tem- 
pests, the  vague  hopes  and  fears  of  men  shaping  them- 
selves into  wild  tales  of  marvel,  which  again  arouse  their 
hopes  and  fears.  King  Alfred,  it  began  to  be  rumoured, 
was  living  still.  St.  Neot  (some  said)  the  holy  monk, 
the  king's  kinsman,  not  many  years  dead,  had  appeared 
in  a  dream  to  the  king,  and  told  him  that  his  trial  had 
now  endured  the  necessary  time  to  purify  him  for  the 
triumph  which  was  close  at  hand.  Others  told  how  the 
saint  in  person  had  visited  the  king  in  his  hiding-place 
at  Athelney,  in  the  guise  of  a  beggar,  and  being  greeted 
with  humble  words  and  merciful  deeds,  had  told  him  that 
the  arrogant  self-will  for  which  in  old  times  he  had 
warned  him  he  must  suffer,  having  evidently  been  purged 
from  his  heart  in  the  fires  of  affliction,  God  would  speed- 
ily send  him  better  days.  Others  indeed  shook  their 
heads,  and  said  the  people  had  abandoned  their  chief, 
and  he  would  never  be  restored  to  them. 

Meantime  the  faithful  little  band  at  Athelney  contin- 
ued to  make  sudden  sallies  from  their  hiding-place  among 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH- TELL  EH. 


7S 


the  marshy  woods,  appalling  the  Danes  and  succouring 
the  Saxons  by  appearing  here  and  there,  at  all  kinds  of 
unexpected  times  and  places,  and  then  disappearing, 
none  knew  whither — the  mystery  and  suddenness  of  their 
movements  giving  them  much  of  the  charm  and  terror  of 
the  supernatural. 

At  length  the  time  came  when  the  king's  name  and 
the  assurance  of  his  life  would  be  worth  a  victory  to  his 
people ;  and  then  some  of  the  best-proved  men  among 
the  band  at  Athelney  were  sent  forth  one  by  one  through 
the  land,  east,  and  west,  and  south,  to  the  king's  faithful 
thanes  in  Wiltshire,  Hampshire,  and  Somersetshire,  to 
desire  them  to  meet  their  sovereign  in  a  forest  at  the 
stone  of  Egbert,  the  first  founder  of  the  glories  of  the 
West  Saxon  royal  house. 

Thus,  about  six  weeks  after  the  lowly  Easter  at  Athel- 
ney, not  five  months  after  the  flight  from  Chippenham, 
when  kingdom,  king,  church,  and  people  all  seemed  lost, 
hope  burst  forth  afresh,  and  all  England  went  a-Maying 
in  the  forest  around  Egbert's  stone  to  meet  her  king. 
The  life  which  had  been  lying  hidden  in  the  silent  woods 
and  in  the  hearts  of  the  people,  broke  forth  at  once  into 
joyous  sound  and  sight.  Arms  clashed,  horns  rang,  and 
trumpets  pealed  their  royal  salutes  to  the  new-found 
king,  through  the  forest-glades  green  with  the  young 
leaves,  and  bright  with  the  countless  flowers,  and  musical 
with  the  countless  songs  of  May. 

From  all  quarters  the  people  flocked  to  King  Alfred's 
standard,  and  in  a  few  days  he  who,  not  three  months 
before,  had  been  hiding  in  a  swine-herd's  hut,  rode  at  the 
head  of  an  army  to  confront  the  Danes  at  Ethendune, 
under  King  Guthrum. 

To  the  heathen  men  it  was  like  being  called  to  meet 


276  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

an  army  risen  from  the  dead.  A  mysterious  terror  no 
doubt  prepared  them  for  panic  ;  no  magic  raven-standard 
waved  them  on  to  victory.  On  the  other  hand,  the  Sax- 
ons, confident  in  heaven,  in  a  cause  as  sacred  as  any  for 
which  men  ever  fought — in  a  leader  as  noble  as  men  ever 
followed — seemed  to  see  before  them  their  golden-dragon 
standard  borne  in  immortal  hands.  It  was  no  mortal 
standard-bearer  (they  thought)  that  led  them  on,  the  aim 
for  every  Danish  arrow,  yet  scathed  by  none,  but  St. 
Neot,  their  countryman,  the  saintly  kinsman  of  the  king ! 

What  could  be  too  great  for  the  Christian  host  to  hope 
from  the  heaven  which  had  given  them  back  their  king ! 
Had  not  Alfred,  who  led  them  on,  risen,  as  it  were,  from 
the  dead,  to  save  them  from  the  heathen  foe  ?  It  was 
the  conflict  of  a  loyal  Christian  nation  with  a  barbaric 
horde.  Individually  the  Danes  fought  bravely,  according 
to  the  intrepid  nature  common  to  Saxon  and  Dane ;  but 
they  could  not  long  withstand  the  steady  and  continuous 
rush  of  the  Saxon  phalanx.  The  fatal  flight  of  Saxon 
arrows  was  followed  by  the  determined  charge  of  Saxon 
lances  ;  and  from  lances  the  fierce  combat  deepened  to 
the  hand-to-hand  conflict  with  swords,  till  the  Danish 
ranks  were  broken.  Then  the  desperate  desire  of  safety 
replaced  the  eager  strife  for  victory.  The  terrible  hea- 
then army  which  had  so  long  ravaged  England,  melted 
into  a  crowd  of  despairing  men,  each  possessed  only  by 
the  passionate  longing  to  save  his  own  life.  Thousands 
of  Danish  corpses  strewed  the  plain,  and  those  who  es- 
caped took  refuge  in  the  fortress  they  had  secured  not 
far  from  the  camp. 

Gudruna  stood  alone  one  night  a  few  days  after  the 
battle  of  Ethendune,  looking  out  at  one  of  the  narrow 
windows  of  the  fortress  where  the  remnants  of  the  Danish 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  2JJ 

army  had  taken  refuge.  All  day  she  had  been  tending 
her  wounded  countrymen,  proving  the  efficacy  of  such 
simple  remedies  as  she  had  learned  from  Hilda,  and  Hilda 
from  the  nuns.  Now  and  then,  also,  she  had  been  able 
to  tell  the  sufferers,  as  they  curbed  the  gods,  who  they 
said  had  failed  them  in  their  need,  of  Him  who  never 
fails  those  who  trust  in  him — whose  death  had  made 
death  the  gate  of  endless  life  to  his  disciples.  To  most 
of  those  wild  marauders  the  name  of  Christ  had  grown 
familiar  in  their  twelve  years'  ravaging  of  the  land. 
From  tortured  and  dying  sufferers,  monks  and  nuns,  and 
even  little  children,  in  burning  minsters  and  ruined  homes, 
again  and  again  they  must  have  seen  the  power  of  that 
name  to  sustain  and  to  console.  They  must  have  felt  the 
beauty  of  the  orderly  Christian  social  life  they  had  been 
laying  waste,  in  comparison  with  their  own  career  of 
destruction.  The  best  among  them  must  have  felt  the 
mercy  with  which  King  Alfred  pursued  his  victories,  his 
generous  trust  in  their  false  oaths,  his  truth  to  his  own 
word.  Imperfect  as  the  Christianity  of  the  Anglo- 
Saxons  may  have  been,  it  had  nevertheless  life  in  it  to 
bring  forth  fruits  their  fierce  creed  had  never  known. 

Gudruna  mused  on  these  things  as  she  stood  by  the 
window  of  the  fortress,  and  wondered  whether  King 
Guthrum  would  sue  for  peace,  or  whether  the  hunger 
they  had  now  been  enduring  for  some  days  would  have 
to  be  endured  unto  death,  rather  than  yield  to  the  Saxon. 
Then  her  mind  turned  to  Hilda  and  her  brother,  and 
she  thought  how  all  was  changed  between  them  ;  how 
she  had  now  become  the  lonely  orphan  exile  who  might 
have  to  sue  for  the  mercy  of  a  victorious  enemy.  And 
as  she  mused,  her  thoughts  reached  those  depths  of 
conscious  helplessness  where   springs  the  fountain   of 


278  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WK 

prayer.  "  Have  mercy  on  me,"  she  said,  "  0  Jesus,  Son 
of  Mary,  Son  of  God !     Have  mercy  on  us !" 

The  next  day  King  Guthrum  sent  in  his  submission  to 
King  Alfred,  offering  the  noblest  among  his  forces  as 
hostages.  Pie  was  permitted  to  leave  the  fortress  which 
had  become  a  prison  to  him  and  his  starving  followers. 

Among  the  throng  of  Saxons  who  watched  that  emaci- 
ated and  humbled  band  issue  from  the  fortress,  stood 
Hilda,  pressing  close  to  the  gate  to  catch  the  first  glimpse 
of  Gudruna.  Before  long  a  slight  and  drooping  form 
appeared  among  the  Danish  women.  Her  eyes  were  not 
fixed  on  the  ground  like  those  of  the  countrywomen,  but 
often  glanced  upward  as  from  a  heart  whose  tendency 
was  toward  heaven.  Her  cheek  was  more  wan,  and  her 
form  mdre  wasted  even  than  any ;  for  she  had  often 
shared  her  scanty  portion  with  the  sick  and  feeble  ;  but 
there  was  a  patient  calm  on  her  brow  such  as  only  one 
hope  can  give. 

Hilda  saw,  with  a  glance,  not  only  enough  to  enable 
her  to  recognize  Gudruna,  but  to  trace  the  history  of  the 
time  that  had  passed  since  they  met.  In  a  moment  she 
had  folded  her  in  her  arms. 

A  few  weeks  ■  afterwards  King  Guthrum  and  thirty  of 
his  nobles  repaired  to  Alfred's  camp  to  receive  Christian 
baptism.  It  was  surely  no  mere  political  expediency 
which  led  to  this.  Guthrum  had  seized  the  throne  of 
the  murdered  Edmund  of  East  Anglia.  Who  knows  how 
deep  the  impression  of  the  young  king's  patient  and 
heroic  death  may  have  sunk  in  his  heart,  or  how  the  pa- 
tience he  may  have  despised  in  the  victim  may  have  at 
length  won  his  homage,  when  he  saw  it  transformed  from 
the  endurance  of  the  sufferer  into  the  forbearance  of  the 
conqueror  ?     The  mercy  and  truth,  and  ill-requited  trust 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH- TELL EB.  279 

of  King  Alfred,  which  seem  to  have  lost  him  the  fruit  of 
some  victories,  must  have  contributed  at  last  to  an  end 
better  than  any  mere  military  victory. 

The  religion  which  made  suffering  noble,  strength  for- 
bearing, and  oaths  sacred,  was  a  religion  his  foes  must 
have  felt  worth  listening  to ;  and  on  that  baptism  day 
they  paid  the  deepest  homage  to  its  power,  when  they, 
the  chiefs  of  the  heathen  army  which  had  rendered  Eng- 
land desolate  for  years,  trusted  themselves,  unarmed  and 
unattended,  in  the  heart  of  the  Saxon  camp,  among  men 
whose  kindred  they  had  robbed  and  murdered,  guarded 
from  the  vengeance  they  so  well  deserved,  only  by  the 
sanctity  of  the  Christian  promise,  by  the  word  of  "Alfred 
the  truth-teller." 

The  summer  of  that  eventful  year,  whose  spring  had 
seen  Alfred  a  forsaken  fugitive,  had  not  mellowed  into 
autumn  when,  at  Aulre,  near  Athelney  and  within  his 
own  camp,  he  stood  sponsor  for  Guthrum  at  the  font. 

How  much  the  Danish  king  and  his  thirty  pirate  chiefs 
understood  of  the  faith  they  were  professing,  cannot 
now  be  known.  They  had  been  instructed  for  some 
weeks,  and  Alfred  was  not  one  to  offer  a  mockery  to 
God.  Something,  no  doubt,  they  had  learned  of  the 
majesty  and  grace  of  the  glorious  name  into  which  they 
were  baptized.  It  was  something  to  pass  from  the  ser- 
vice of  gods  whose  rites  were  bloodshed  and  plunder,  to 
the  furthest  outskirts  of  the  courts  of  Him  whose  service 
is  love  and  truth. 

There  was  a  deep  hush  in  the  camp  that  summer  noon, 
as  the  Saxon  army  listened  to  the  low  question  of  the 
priest,  and  the  response  of  the  heathen  warriors,  and  saw 
the  sign  of  redemption  traced  on  the  brows  of  the  de- 
stroyers meekly  bowed  to  receive  it,  and  heard  the  Chris- 


28o  •  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

tian  benediction  breathed  over  those  who  had  so  long 
been  the  curse  of  the  land. 

Emotions  deeper  than  any  warrior's  triumph  must  have 
stirred  the  heart  of  the  Christian  king,  as  he  saw  in  that 
solemn  rite  the  promise  of  peace  to  the  Saxon,  and  salva- 
tion for  the  Dane. 

The  Saxons  were  rescued,  and  Christianity  had  tri- 
umphed, and  from  the  union  of  Saxon  and  Dane  that  day 
cemented  at  the  font,  our  country  rose  from  a  collection 
of  petty  kingdoms  into  England ! 

Once  more  the  Saxon  patriots  who  saved  their  country 
from  her  most  imminent  peril,  could  indulge  that  love  of 
home  which  is  at  the  root  of  the  love  of  country. 

One  morning,  soon  after  the  chrismal  fillet  had  been 
loosened  from  the  baptized  Danes,  the  baptismal  robes 
laid  aside,  and  the  last  guest  had  departed  with  royal 
presents  from  Alfred's  palace  at  Wedmore,  Hilda  and 
Gudruna  sat  under  the  shade  of  a  beech  tree,  on  a  farm 
of  Bertric's,  arranging  some  medicinal  herbs  they  had 
been  culling  from  the  fields,  when  Hilda  suddenly  de- 
sisted from  her  work,  and  said, — 

"  I  may  wait  for  months  before  anything  will  lead  to 
what  I  want  to  say  to  thee,  unless  I  make  a  way.  Thou 
must  surely  have  seen  that  my  brother's  happiness  is 
bound  up  in  thee.  And  yet  I  know  not  when  he  will  say 
so  to  thee,  so  sacred  is  his  respect  for  the  asylum  he  of- 
fered thee  in  his  house.  He  fears,  if  thy  heart  could  not 
freely  be  given  to  him,  and  so  his  home  become  thine, 
this  house  would  cease  to  be  thy  refuge.  But  he  need 
never  know  that  I  have  spoken  thus  to  thee.  He  is  older 
than  thou  art,  Gudruna,"  she  continued  in  a  deprecating 
tone,  "  and  sorrow  early  scattered  gray  amongst  his  hair, 
and  furrowed  his  brow." 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  28i 

"  I  like  gray  hair  in  a  man,"  said  Gudruna,  colouring 
deeply  ;  "  and  where  there  are  no  furrows  of  thought,  how 
can  there  be  any  harvest  of  noble  deeds  ?" 

They  fell  for  a  few  moments  into  silence,  and  then 
Gudruna  said  suddenly,  looking  up,  and  fixing  her  clear 
eyes  earnestly  on  Hilda, — 

"  Hilda,  you  have  always  been  true  to  me ;  are  you 
sure  your  brother  does  not  wish  me  to  be  his  wife  only 
that  I  may  not  be  left  to  wander  homeless  through  the 
world  ?  If  it  were  thus,  I  would  rather  be  a  bondmaid 
in  any  home  than  the  lady  of  his." 

Hilda  smiled,  and  thought  her  task  was  done  ;  and 
laying  down  her  work  without  answering,  she  fetched  her 
brother  from  the  field.  And  the  next  day  Bertric  and 
Gudruna  were  betrothed. 

The  field  of  England  had  been  won  from  the  foe.  It 
had  yet  to  be  reclaimed  from  the  desolation  to  which 
the  Danes  had  reduced  it.  The  waste  and  ruin  of  years 
could  but  slowly  be  repaired.  Scarcely  a  city  remained 
unruined  throughout  King  Alfred's  dominions,  scarcely  a 
monastery  unburnt,  scarcely  a  judge  who  could  read  the 
laws,  a  priest  who  could  read  the  services  of  the  Church. 

Laws,  lawyers,  churches,  priests,  books,  readers,  the 
king  had  to  make  them  all.  And  he  did  it — not  in  the 
uninterrupted  leisure  of  a  tranquil  and  vigorous  life,  but 
with  a  body  worn  by  continual  weakness  (worn  out  in 
fifty-three  years),  in  the  pauses  of  incessant  contests  with 
the  Danes  by  sea  and  land.'  His  biography  is  a  record 
of  work  so  varied,  so  hindered  yet  so  successful,  that  it 
might  seem  a  mere  legendary  tale  of  the  heroes,  if  we 
did  not  know  how  much  of  the  most  effective  work  in 
the  world  has  been  done  in  the  intervals  of  brief  and 
busy  hours. 


282  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

Once  more,  the  home  of  Bertric  began  to  rise  on  the 
fertile  range  of  hills  to  the  north  of  London,  where  lay 
his  father's  estates.  Some  fresh  horde  of  predatory 
Danes,  owning  the  force  of  no  treaty  made  with  other 
bands  of  their  countrymen,  had  retained  London,  and 
were  not  dispossessed  by  Alfred  until  after  a  regular 
siege  in  886.  Then  Bertric  ventured  to  reclaim  his 
home,  and  the  wooden  homstead  of  the  Saxon  thane  rose 
on  the  summit  within  the  ancient  moat.  In  spite  of  all 
its  perils,  the  free  life  of  the  country  attracted  our  Saxon 
forefathers  more  than  the  restraints  of  the  city.  Ber- 
tric and  his  men  gladly  followed  the  king  as  he  rode 
among  the  charred  remains  of  the  dwellings  of  London, 
and  once  more  cleared  the  site  of  the  great  church  of 
St.  Paul's ;  and  lent  their  aid  to  the  work.  But  his 
home  was  on  the  heights  looking  northward,  over  the 
range  of  forest  and  heath,  broken  by  green  glade  and 
forest  pool,  which  wild  birds  haunted,  and  where  deer 
and  wild  boar  came  to  drink  ;  and  southward  over  ter- 
raced vineyards  and  golden  corn-fields  to  the  Thames. 
The  age  of  great  cities  had  not  yet  come.  But  it  must 
interest  the  dwellers  in  London  of  to-day  to  remember 
that  while  the  origin  of  the  city  dates  back  to  far-off  un- 
recorded British  times,  the  form  of  the  first  Founder  that 
rises  distinctly  out  of  the  dimness  of  the  past  is  that  of 
Alfred  the  Great.  It  is  something  for  town  or  city  to 
trace  back  its  beginning  to  hands  so  pure. 

It  was  not  the  lot  of  Bertric,  however,  or  of  any  brave 
man  in  those  days  of  mingled  conflict  and  restoration, 
when,  as  in  Jerusalem  of  old,  men  had  to  build  with  their 
weapons  beside  them,  to  lead  a  tranquil,  stationary  life. 
As  one  of  the  king's  thanes,  he  and  his  family  followed 
the  king  from  one  town  or  royal  residence  to  another. 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  283 

The  court  of  King  Alfred  was  no  mere  state  palace,  noi 
even  only  a  royal  home.  It  was  at  once  a  travelling 
university,  a  British  association,  the  great  court  of  jus- 
tice, the  Board  of  Trade,  the  Admiralty,  and  the  Horse 
Guards  of  the  kingdom.  The  learned  men,  themselves 
pupils,  or  pupils  of  pupils  of  great  Englishmen,  such  as 
Alcuin,  who  were  induced  by  the  king's  liberality  and 
love  of  learning  to  come  from  the  continent  to  instruct 
the  youth  of  England,  had  to  share  this  wandering  life. 
The  children  of  Bertric  and  the  courtiers  were  brought 
up  with  the  king's  children.  The  future  bishops,  and 
judges,  and  warriors  of  England,  were  trained  under  the 
eye  of  the  king.  Often,  indeed,  they  received  instruction 
from  his  own  lips.  It  was  his  wish  (and  with  him  to  wish 
was  to  endeavour)  that  all  the  free-born  youth  of  his 
people  who  possessed  the  means,  should  persevere  in 
learning  so  long  as  they  had  no  other  affairs  to  prosecute, 
until  they  could  perfectly  read  the  English  Scriptures  ; 
and  that  such  as  desired  to  devote  themselves  to  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Church  should  be  taught  Latin. 

His  law-book  began  with  the  laws  of  God  as  given  by 
Moses  to  the  Israelites  (the  Ten  Commandments*  with 
the  21st,  22d,  and  23d  chapters  of  Exodus),  followed  by 
these  words  :  "  These  are  the  laws  spoken  to  Moses  by 
Almighty  God  himself,  who  commanded  him  to  keep 
them  ;  and  afterwards  the  only  Son  of  God,  who  is  Christ 
our  Saviour,  came  upon  earth  and  said  that  he  did  not 
come  to  destroy  those  laws,  and  to  abolish  them,  but  in 
every  way  to  fulfil ;  and  he  taught  mercy  and  humility." 
This  epitome  of  the  Divine  laws  concludes  with,  "  What- 
soever ye  would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even 
so  to  them.     By  this  one  commandment  man  shall  know 

*  Exodus  xx.  23,  was  inserted  in  place  of  the  second,  which  was  omitted- 


284  THE  EARL Y  DA  WK 

whether  he  does  right ;  then  he  will  require  no  other 
law-book." 

The  year  of  our  Lord  987  was  one  of  great  rejoicing 
in  England.  For  three  years  the  king  had  lived  at  the 
head  of  his  army  to  repel  the  invasion  of  Hastings,  the 
daring  and  able  Danish  chief,  who  had  laid  Europe  waste 
from  Holland  to  Italy  *  In  Devonshire,  Shropshire, 
Kent,  and  Hertfordshire,  King  Alfred  had  met  and  de- 
feated the  invaders,  until  at  length,  "  without  lucre  and 
without  honour,"  the  baffled  Vikingr  had  taken  his  final 
flight  for  the  less  defended  shores  of  France,  with  the 
wife  and  children  who  had  been  twice  captured  by  Al- 
fred, and  twice  restored  to  the  invader  with  courteous 
words  and  royal  gifts.  Once  more  the  farmers  of  the 
country  around  London  could  gather  in  their  crops  with- 
out being  under  the  protection  of  a  royal  army.  Old 
cities  and  old  minsters  rose  from  their  ashes ;  and  the 
king  being  thus  wonderfully  free  from  troubles  of  his 
own,  found  leisure  to  think  of  the  troubles  of  his  fellow 
Christians  of  the  ancient  churches  of  St.  Thomas  in 
India.  The  Bishop  of  Sherborne  was  sent  to  them  with 
gifts  and  a  message  of  Christian  sympathy  ;  and  thus,  the 
first  time  England  came  in  contact  with  India,  it  was  with 
the  clasp  of  Christian  fellowship  through  the  hand  of 
Alfred  the  Great. 

Four  peaceful  years  followed,  marked  by  one  of  the 
happy  silences  of  history  ;  and  then  came  a  day  of  mourn- 
ing for  all  England,  when  the  body  of  their  best  king, 
worn  out  by  suffering  and  ceaseless  toil — suffering  which 
he  never  permitted  to  hinder  his  toil,  and  toil  almost  en- 
tirely for  others — was  laid  in  the  church  of  the  monastery 
which  he  had  founded  at  Winchester. 

*  He  captured  the  ancient  city  of  Luna,  in  the  Gulf  of  Spezia,  mistaking 
it  for  Rome. 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER  285 

Iii  May,  twenty-three  years  before,  the  nation  had  at 
length  awakened  and  recognized  her  deliverer,  and  had 
rallied  round  him  in  the  forest,  dating  the  new  spring- 
tide of  her  life  from  that  spring-time  of  the  new  earth. 

Nature  had  her  forest  garlands  and  her  songs  for  King 
Alfred's  triumph ;  and  now  on  this  28th  of  October  she 
had  her  funereal  pomp  of  autumn,  and  her  boding  silence 
for  his  tomb. 

History  has  recorded  no  death-bed  scene  of  Alfred  the 
Great ;  and  no  legendary  vision  has  attempted  to  open 
the  heavens  above  his  grave.  It  is  remarkable  that  all 
the  legends  which  the  grateful  affection  of  after  and  less 
happy  times  gathered  around  his  memory  in  the  hearts 
of  the  Saxon  people  are  connected,  not  with  death,  but 
with  his  life.  The  traditions  that  float  around  his  mem- 
ory are  popular,  not  ecclesiastical.  The  greatest  king 
and  the  noblest  man  of  his  days  has  not  attained  the  low- 
est step  of  monastic  canonization.  Monks  who  attained 
the  perfection  of  saying  their  prayers  in  ice-cold  water, 
and  priests  who  had  physical  encounters  with  the  devil, 
and  who  exercised  their  courage  in  maiming  a  poor  young 
Saxon  queen,  have  their  due  record  in  ecclesiastical  le- 
gend. The  king  who  set  an  example,  not  of  celibacy, 
but  of  a  Christian  married  life,  who  won  England  back 
to  Christianity,  and  brought  the  Danish  pirates  to  Chris- 
tian baptism — who  chose  any  suffering  rather  than  sin 
should  vanquish  him,  who  spent  his  life  and  early  wore 
out  his  strength  in  ceaseless  labours  for  the  spiritual  and 
temporal  good  of  his  people,  is  left  to  secular  history. 
We  may  well  be  thankful  that  monastic  ingenuity  has 
been  exhausted  on  St.  Neot  rather  than  on  his  royal  kins- 
man, and  that  such  stories  as  that  of  restoring  broiled 
fish  to  life,  and  bending  a  wild  stag's  neck  to  the  yoke  of 


286  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

the  plough,  have  been  withheld  from  the  memory  of  Eng- 
land's first  and  perhaps  her  purest  hero.  Happily  for 
him,  Alfred  himself,  as  well  as  the  ecclesiastical  historians, 
looked  on  St.  Neot  as  the  saint,  "  not  as  other  men,"  and 
on  himself  as  "  the  sinner  "  needing  "  mercy,"  and  thank- 
ful for  the  chastisement  that  assailed  his  sins.  Grand  as 
an  old  Greek  statue  amidst  a  theatrical  group  of  wax- 
work ;  simple  as  a  Bible  story  amidst  a  mass  of  monkish 
legends,  the  history  of  King  Alfred  comes  down  to  us. 
Neither  the  splendour  nor  the  gloom  of  the  middle  ages 
is  upon  it. 

It  is  not  the  want  of  detail  in  his  biography  which 
gives  this  simplicity  and  grandeur  to  our  impression  of 
him.  We  are  not  left  to  fill  up  the  breaks  of  a  broken 
outline  with  ideal  lines. 

His  character  and  life  stand  out  with  a  singular  clear- 
ness from  the  legendary  days  which  *  preceded  it,  and 
from  the  romantic  tales  of  crusade  and  conquest,  of  castle 
and  convent,  which  follow.  We  know  the  delight  of  his 
childhood  in  ballads,  his  ardent  love  of  the  chase  in 
youth,  his  sympathy  with  the  studies  and  recreations  of 
his  own  children,  and  the  children  of  his  thanes.  We 
know  even  the  way  in  which  he  divided  his  time,  and 
how  he  constructed  the  horn  time-lantern  which  measured 
it.  We  are  told  how  he  apportioned  his  revenue.  We 
can  sit  with  him  as  he  listened  to  the  daily  lessons 
and  psalms  from  the  Scriptures.  We  know  how,  often 
at  midnight,  he  went  alone  into  the  church,  which  in  his 
busy  and  crowded  palace  was  his  best  closet,  and  having 
shut  th£  door,  prayed  to  his  Father  who  seeth  in  secret. 
The  echo  of  one  of  these  solitary  prayers  has  even 
reached  us,  and  the  rewards  of  how  many !  We  know 
how  he  learned  to  read,  and  the  books  he  loved  best. 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  287 

We  know  even  much  of  the  contents  of  the  little  manual 
of  Scriptures,  hymns,  and  prayers,  which  he  always  carried 
in  his  bosom. 

We  have,  in  the  original  passage  which  he  inserted  in 
his  translation  of  Boetheus,  a  touching  tribute  of  his 
affection  for  his  wife :  i(  She  lives  now  for  thee,  thee 
alone.  Hence  she  loves  none  else  but  thee.  She  has 
enough  of  every  good  in  this  present  life,  but  she  has 
despised  it  all  for  thee  alone.  She  has  shunned  it  all, 
because  only  she  has  not  thee  also."  Does  not  the  mem- 
ory of  the  exile  in  Athelney,  which  his  wife  Elswitha 
shared,  quiver  through  every  word  of  this  passage  ?  We 
see  it  also  in  the  peculiar  pathos  which  breathes  in  his 
version  of  the  story  of  Orpheus  and  Eurydice,  and  in 
the  provision  of  his  will,  which  among  other  estates,  left 
to  Elswitha  Wantage  and  Ethendune  ;  his  birth-place, 
and  the  great  battle-field  on  which  he  conquered  the 
Danes. 

From  his  will  also  we  learn  how  carefully  he  provided 
for  his  servants,  and  how  earnestly  he  insisted  on  the 
liberation  of  his  slaves,  that  when  he  died  they  might  be 
free  to  choose  any  master  they  would. 

We  know  also  what  a  burden  the  crown  was  to  him, — 
the  crown  which  to  him  had  always  hung  over  his  head 
"  suspended  by  a  small  thread ;"  how  hard  he  found  it  to 
make  his  people  work  with  a  tithe  of  the  energy  for  their 
own  good  with  which  he  worked  for  them ;  what  sorrows 
he  felt  to  be  the  accompaniments  of  power ;  and  what 
emptiness  he  found  in  mere  "  clothes  "  and  state. 

We  know  how  his  mind  grappled  with  the  great  ques- 
tions of  human  free-will  and  divine  foreknowledge.  We 
know  his  tastes,  his  pleasures,  his  sicknesses,  and  his 
fears. 


288  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

We  know  something  of  what  his  conflicts  were,  and  we 
know  where  he  found  his  rest. 

"  The  true  blessedness  is  God,"  he  writes.  "  He  is  the 
beginning  and  end  of  every  good,  and  He  is  the  high- 
est happiness." 

"  There  is  no  man  that  needs  not  some  increase  but 
God  alone.  He  hath  enough  in  his  own  self.  He  needs 
nothing  but  that  which  he  has  in  himself."  "  By  these 
things  we  may  manifestly  understand  that  every  man  de- 
sires this,  that  he  may  obtain  the  supreme  good,  when  he 
can  know  it,  or  is  enabled  to  seek  it  rightly.  But  they 
seek  it  not  in  the  most  right  way.  It  is  not  in  this 
world."  "  There  is  no  creature  that  does  not  desire  it 
may  proceed  thither  whence  it  came  before.  This  is  rest 
and  felicity.     Its  rest  is  with  God ;  God  is  its  rest." 

"  In  God,  the  beginning,  and  the  fountain,  and  the  root 
of  all  good,"  was  the  rest  and  the  spring  of  life  of  that 
aspiring  mind  and  that  tried  heart. 

*  No  necessity  has  taught  Thee  to  make  what  thou  hast 
made  ;  but  of  thine  own  will  and  thine  own  power  thou 
hast  created  all  things  ;  yet  Thou  hast  no  need  of  any." 

"  Most  wonderful  is  the  nature  of  Thy  goodness  ;  for 
it  is  all  one,  Thou  and  thy  goodness.  God  comes  not  to 
thee,  but  is  thine  own.  Thou  hast  created  all  things  very 
good  and  very  fair ;  and  thou  thyself  art  the  highest  and 
the  fairest  good." 

Yet,  rising  above  Manicheanism  as  above  materialism, 
he  says,  that  "  because  the  creatures  are  not  complete  and 
self-suffering,  they  are  not  for  that  reason  not  good  ;  for 
everything  would  go  to  nought,"  he  concludes,  "  if  it  had 
not  some  good  in  it." 

"  God  is  wisdom,  the  supreme  good,  the  highest  eter- 
nity.    All  eternity  is  present  to  him." 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH-TELLER.  289 

"  His  riches  increase  not,  nor  do  they  ever  diminish. 
He  is  always  giving,  and  never  wants.  He  is  always 
almighty,  because  he  always  wills  good  and  not  evil. 
He  is  always  seeing ;  he  never  sleeps.  He  is  always 
mild  and  kind.  He  will  always  be  eternal.  He  is  al- 
ways free." 

Most  expressive  is  the  silence  with  which  the  bio- 
graphers of  mediaeval  saints  have  done  homage  to  this 
holy  memory.  He  built  monasteries ;  he  endowed 
churches ;  he  honoured  the  great  ecclesiastical  metrop- 
olis of  Rome.  He  translated  Pope  Gregory's  Pastorals, 
full  of  legends  after  the  monk's  own  heart,  for  the  bene- 
fit of  his  clergy.  But  his  own  life  was  set  by  a  higher 
standard,  and  nourished  by  deeper  springs  than  these 
narratives  could  reach. 

His  bones,  desecrated  by  no  embalmer's  arts  into  a 
poor  monastic  mummy,  have  been  suffered  to  mingle  with 
the  dust  of  the  country  he  saved.  If  any  perfume  hangs 
about  his  tomb,  it  is  that  of  the  fresh,  grass  and  lowly 
wild-flowers,  with  which  the  earth  honours  the  remains 
committed  trustfully  to  her  sole  keeping.  His  memory, 
profaned  by  no  decorating  hands  of  theatrical  historian 
or  legendary  chronicler,  comes  home  to  our  hearts,  not  as 
that  of  the  canonized  saint  or  the  crowned  hero,  but  of 
the  faithful  husband  and  father,  the  generous  foe,  the 
true  friend,  the  devoted  patriot,  the  Christian  king,  in 
himself  all  that  he  desired  as  the  elements  of  a  king- 
dom— "  the  prayer-man,  the  army-man,  and  the  work- 
man." 

Silently  he  passes  into  the  eternal  world  to  which  so 
many  of  his  thoughts  had  arisen,  his  death  but  one  simple 
unrecorded  act  of  his  patient  and  obedient  life. 

Of  ordinary  vanity  he  seems  to  have  been  absolutely 
13 


290  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

destitute.  His  chief  literary  works  (except  his  laws) 
were  translations,  for  the  good  of  his  people ;  and  the 
noble  original  thoughts  and  eloquent  original  words,  by 
which  we  see  into  his  own  mind,  are  hidden  among  the 
thoughts  he  translated  without  any  distinctive  claim,  only 
to  be  disentangled  from  these  by  a  careful  comparison 
of  the  translation  with  the  book  translated.* 

In  thinking  of  all  he  was  and  all  he  accomplished,  it 
is  scarcely  possible  to  avoid  running  into  a  panegyric, 
which  would  be  an  insult  to  that  grand  and  simple 
character. 

We  must  turn  to  his  own  confessions,  recorded  by  his 
friend  Asser,  to  learn  what  were  his  faults.  From  his 
own  words  we  may  best  understand  the  purpose  of  his 
life.  "  I  have  desired,"  he  says,  "  to  live  worthily  while 
I  lived,  and  after  my  life  to  leave  the  men  that  should 
be  after  me  a  remembrance  in  good  works 1"  His  am- 
bition, to  live  worthily  ;  his  monument,  good  works. 
How  lofty  the  simple  words  are !  Duty,  not  romantic 
achievement,  is  the  aim  of  his  life ;  not  to  do  "  some 
great  thing,"  but  the  right  thing  ;  the  right  thing  being 
simply  what  God  gave  him  to  do.  The  subtle  spiritual 
vanity,  which  makes  some  lives  a  disappointment  and  a 
failure,  seems  to  have  been  absent  from  his.  He  seems 
to  have  felt  in  his  inmost  being,  that  each  man  was  sent 
into  the  world,  not  to  be  like  some  one  else,  but  to  do 
his  own  work,  and  bear  his  own  burden,  precisely  the 
one  work  which  God  has  given  him,  and  which  can  never 
be  given  to  or  done  by  any  other. 

The  great  Christian  ideal,  not  to  do  this  or  that  work, 
but  to  do  God\s  will,  seems  to  have  been  his.  He  aimed 
not  to  live  remarkably,  but  worthily ;   and  so,  uncon- 

*  Sharon  Turner's  Anglo-Saxons. 


ALFRED  THE  TRUTH- TELLER 


291 


sciously,  he  became  Alfred  the  "  Great,"  wept  in  every 
Saxon  home,  throughout  the  bad  and  bitter  days  of  the 
early  Norman  conquest,  as  the  Shepherd  and  Darling 
of  England ;  honoured  by  Saxon,  Dane  and  Norman, 
as  the  man  who  could  be  trusted — Alfred  the  Truth- 
teller. 

IIamfstead,  August,  1863. 


VIII. 

Saxon    and    Norman 

A  STORY    OF   THE   CONQUEST. 


.     i 


' 


VIII. 


SAXON    AND    NORMAN. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  CONQUEST. 


I. 


HE  doors  and  windows  had  just  been  closed 
and  barred  in  one  of  the  few  Saxon  home- 
steads remaining  in  the  great  wilderness  made 
by  William  the  Conqueror  out  of  fertile  Nor- 
thumbria.  The  aged  master  of  the  house,  Aldred  the 
Thane,  gathered  his  household  around  him,  in  those 
stormy  times,  for  prayer,  (according  to  a  simile  of  an  old 
chronicler,)  "  as  a  ship's  crew  is  gathered  in  the  seas  in 
the  stormy  tempest."  Bows  and  arrows,  pikes  and 
swords  were  laid  together  where  they  could  easily  be 
found  in  case  of  sudden  attack,  and  each  was  retiring  to 
rest  for  the  night,  when  a  low  knock  was  heard  at  the 
door.  Aldred,  the  blind  old  thane,  was  the  first  to  hear 
the  sound,  and  grasping  his  daughter  Editha's  hand,  they 
stood  still  to  listen.  The  knock  was  repeated  more  for- 
cibly, and  then  voices  were  heard.  This  time  it  was 
Editha  who  was  the  first  to  catch  the  sound,  and,  with  a 

(295) 


296  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

flush  of  pleasure,  quickly  followed  by  a  look  of  anxious 
fear,  she  said, — 

"  It  is  Si  ward.  What  can  bring  him  here  so  late,  and 
who  can  be  with  him  ?" 

In  another  moment  the  heavy  bolts  were  let  down,  and 
through  the  cautiously  opened  door  entered  a  young  man 
in  a  common  peasant's  dress,  and  a  priest. 

"  Welcome,  Father  Osyth,"  said  the  old  thane,  grasp- 
ing the  priest's  hand,  while  Editha  bent  for  his  blessing. 

After  a  brief  conference,  the  fire  was  piled  up  in  the 
hall,  the  table  was  spread,  the  house  was  once  more  fast 
closed,  the  household  was  dismissed,  and  Aldred  and 
Editha  were  left  alone  with  their  guests. 

The  subjects  talked  of  were  not  of  a  cheering  kind 
and  yet  Siward's  face  seemed  to  Editha  to  have  more  of 
hope  and  determination  in  it  than  she  had  seen  there  for 
many  months.  A  bitter  sense  of  wrongs,  terribly  com- 
mon to  all,  and  yet,  while  familiar  to  each,  too  deep  to 
be  often  floating  on  the  surface  of  intercourse,  pervaded 
that  little  company. 

Aldred,  the  old  thane,  although,  by  a  rare  exception, 
suffered  to  remain  in  the  homestead  of  his  fathers,  had 
had  the  sight  deliberately  scorched  from  his  eyes,  while 
Editha  was  yet  a  child,  for  killing  some  of  the  king's 
deer  which  wasted  his  fields.  Siward  was  the  last  of  a 
noble  Saxon  family  which  had  been  slain  in  one  of  the 
many  brave  but  disconnected  insurrections  with  which 
after  the  death  of  Harold,  the  Saxons  vainly  resisted  the 
united  host  of  Norman  plunderers.  His  father  and  elder 
brothers  had  perished  fighting  with  Hereward  in  the 
camp  of  refuge  at  Croyland,  among  the  fens  ;  and  he,  a 
child  of  four  years  old,  had  fallen  to  the  lot  of  the  knight 
Bertrand  de  Gareune,  whose  serf  he  was.    So  early  in- 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN.  297 

thralled,  his  mind  might  have  grown  down  to  his  circum- 
stances, had  it  not  happened  that  the  lands  assigned  to 
De  Garenne  were  in  Northumbria,  and  included  the  home 
of  Aldred  the  Thane,  whose  family  had  of  old  been  allied 
to  that  of  Siward  ;  so  that  thus,  much  of  his  boyhood  he 
had  been  suffered  to  pass  under  the  roof  of  his  father's 
friend.  He  had  shared  with  Editha  such  teaching  as 
Father  Osyth,  one  of  the  wandering  priests  from  a  ruined 
Saxon  monastery,  could  give  them  in  his  occasional  vis- 
its ;  and  thus  the  memories  of  the  noble  and  the  saintly 
men  and  women  of  their  race  had  been  kept  alive  in  the 
hearts  of  these  Saxon  children.  St.  Cuthbert  of  Lindis- 
farne,  the  good  Abbess  Hilda,  the  venerable  Bede  of  Jar- 
row,  the  great  and  holy  King  Alfred,  with  Hereward,  the 
last  Saxon  national  hero,  were  names  dear  and  reverend 
to  them — loved  with  a  tender  and  pathetic  reverence 
which  at  once  ennobled  and  softened  the  hearts  in  which 
it  dwelt.  Saxon  ballads  and  proverbs,  and,  what  was 
better,  Saxon  gospel,  psalm  and  hymn,  were  their  heroic 
and  sacred  literature.  And  gradually,  by  the  fireside  in 
winter,  and  among  the  free  forests  in  summer,  as  Editha 
spun  or  gathered  medicinal  herbs,  and  Siward  made  or 
tried  his  Saxon  bow  and  arrows,  an  ideal  of  character 
rose  before  them  which  moulded  their  own  as  they  looked 
up  to  it — an  ideal  truer  and  nobler  far  than  that  of  the 
Norman  chivalry  around  them — an  ideal  which  made 
nobleness  possible  for  the  peasant  as  well  as  for  the 
knight,  and  saintliness  attainable  for  the  layman  as  well 
as  the  monk.  Gradually  also  grew  up  between  them 
that  deep  affection,  unquestioning  because  undoubting, 
gently  intertwined  with  every  fibre  of  being,  which  made 
life  simply  not  life  at  all  to  one  without  the  other. 

So  tranquilly  their  youth  passed  on  until  the  old  knight 
13* 


298  THE  EABLT  DA  WK 

Bertrand  one  day  awoke  to  the  fact  that  Siward  was  of 
an  age  to  be  of  service.  Then  began  the  bitterness  of 
bondage  for  them.  All  in  their  hearts  and  lives  seemed 
to  spring  at  once  from  unconscious,  tranquil  happiness,  to 
agonizing  consciousness.  They  had  to  descend  into  the 
common  destiny  of  their  oppressed  and  down- trodden 
people — they,  with  their  free  Saxon  blood  and  their 
Saxon  reverence  for  freedom.  Thus  Editha's  affection 
for  Siward  grew  into  that  union  of  passionate  reverence 
and  indignant  pity  which  becomes  so  unconquerable  in  a 
woman's  heart  when  all  she  most  reverences  and  loves  is 
subjected  to  unjust  humiliation. 

She  who  had  been  wont  to  give  herself  little  imperial 
maidenly  airs  with  him  in  happy  days,  watched  him  now 
when  they  met,  to  render  him  little  services,  and  spoke 
of  him  in  the  presence  of  all  as  her  betrothed. 

But  with  him  it  was  otherwise.  It  scarcely  seemed  a 
pleasure  to  him  to  meet  her.  Generally  his  manner  was 
abrupt  to  roughness,  except  when  the  fear  of  having 
pained  her  made  him  forget  all  but  herself,  and  for  a 
moment  all  the  old  gentle  tenderness  came  back. 

But  to-night  all  this  was  changed.  Editha  felt  it  at 
once,  although  he  said  nothing  until  Father  Osyth  and 
Aldred  the  Thane  had  seated  themselves  by  the  hearth, 
and  he  drew  Editha  to  the  little  narrow  window,  through 
which  one  streak  of  moonlight  fell  on  the  stone  floor, 
beaming  quietly  across  the  flickering  glow  of  the  firelight, 
as  the  purpose  of  God  crosses  the  fitful  purposes  of  man. 

"  Editha,"  he  said,  "  my  love,  my  betrothed," — he  had 
not  called  her  by  an  endearing  name  for  months, — "  to- 
morrow I  shall  be  a  thrall  no  longer  ;  I  shall  be  free !" 

Her  hand  trembled  in  the  strong  grasp  of  his,  and  she 
was  too  much  moved  to  answer  him  by  word  or  look. 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN.  zg9 

.  "  The  knight  Bertrand  has  resolved  to  join  the  Crusade 
to  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  to  do  penance  for  his  sins.  He 
has  given  all  his  serfs  the  choice  to  follow  him  to  the 
Crusade  ;  and  whoever  takes  on  him  the  Crusader's  cross, 
is  from  that  instant  and  forever  free." 

Editha  did  not  say  anything.  To  her  the  boon  seemed 
very  mixed,  and  yet  she  knew  too  well  how  unattainable 
it  was  by  other  means,  and  how  precious,  not  to  share 
his  enthusiasm.  Still  she  could  not  speak  a  word  to 
send  him  from  her.  He  felt  her  silence  like  a  passive 
resistance,  and  resumed  with  a  vehement  earnestness, — 

"  Editha,  for  your  sake  I  have  given  up  every  other 
way  by  which  brave  men,  wronged  as  I  am,  seize  their 
freedom.  Better  and  more  patient  men  than  I  have 
taken  to  the  forest  for  wrongs  less  than  your  father's  or 
mine.  The  forest  is  the  Saxon  freeman's  castle.  The 
Conqueror  founded  it  for  us  when  he  laid  the  whole 
land  waste  from  the  Swale  to  the  Tyne.  When  his 
army  marched,  divided  into  many  columns  through 
the  north,  slowly  destroying  everything  in  their  track, 
they  little  thought  that  in  levelling  cities  and  burning 
villages,  in  turning  meadows  into  marshes  and  fruitful 
fields  into  forests,  they  were  making  the  whole  wilder- 
ness a  fortress  for  our  people.  The  Norman  robber 
builds  his  castle  on  the  height,  with  its  winding  passages 
and  its  dark  torture-dungeons.  But  beside  him  God 
slowly  rears  the  forest- fortress  of  our  race.  Time,  which 
slowly  wears  away  the  hardest  stones  of  the  invaders' 
walls,  ceaselessly  strengthens  our  rampart,  raising  the 
sapling  into  the  mighty  tree,  and  intertwining  the  gnarled 
branches.  The  Norman  horsemen  sink  in  the  marshes 
they  have  made,  or,  if  they  venture  into  our  woods,  they 
have  to  fell  their  way  at  every  step  along  the  narrow 


3oo  TEE  EARL Y  DA  WN. 

forest-paths  until  sword  and  battle-axe  are  blunted  ;  and 
then  when  they  reach  the  open  glade,  unseen  arrows 
bring  down  their  bravest,  until,  weary  and  dispirited, 
they  return  ;  or  perhaps  never  return,  lost  in  the  mazes 
of  the  woods,  which  only  we  Saxons  know.  Meantime, 
our  countrymen  dwell  safely  in  some  deep  glade  the  foe 
has  never  reached,  and  make  their  sallies  on  their  oppres- 
sor, rescuing  many  a  Saxon  home  from  wrong,  and  win- 
ning many  a  ransom  from  the  Norman.  I  think  this  life 
is  noble,  Editha.  We  fight  for  the  oppressed  against 
the  oppressor.  No  feeble  or  helpless  one  ever  complains 
of  the  Saxon  foresters  ;  the  widow  and  fatherless  welcome 
them  like  angels ;  and  on  Sunday,  Saxon  priests  read 
them  Gospel  and  hymn  in  the  old  free  mother-tongue. 
Shall  we  join  these,  my  love?  If  you  will  come,  my 
cousin  Frithric  will  welcome  us  to-morrow.  His  wife 
and  sisters  are  there,  of  race  noble  even  as  thine.  Shall 
we  go  to  the  forest  ?  Thy  father  will  be  honoured  as  a 
prince  among  them,  and  Father  Osyth  will  visit  and  bless 
us  there  as  here.  This  would  please  me  best.  No  infidel 
to  me  so  hateful  as  these  worse  than  heathen  Normans ! 
no  crusade  to  me  holier  than  to  redress  the  wrongs  of  my 
people.  Editha,"  he  continued,  "shall  we  go  together 
to  the  forest,  or  shall  I  join  the  Crusade  ?" 

Editha  hesitated. 

*  I  cannot  tell  why,  Siward,"  she  said,  at  length,  in  a 
very  sad  and  quiet  voice,  "  but  it  seems  to  me  the  Cru- 
sade is  best.  Our  people  of  old  always  conquered  through 
peeping  the  laws,  not  through  breaking  them.  Now  the 
laws  seem  all  on  the  wrong  side  j  but  in  some  way  or 
other  I  feel  it  would  be  worse  that  there  should  be 
none.  I  see  how  noble  Frithric  and  many  of  these  out- 
laws may  be ;  but  their  life  seems  tp  me  too  much  like 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN  301 

that  of  the  old  Danes  to  be  Christian,  or  to  do  good  in  the 
end." 

"  Did  not  Alfred,  England's  darling,  once  live  thus  in 
the  Isle  of  Athelney,  and  so  begin  the  deliverance  of 
England  ?" 

"  But  Alfred  was  king,  and  fought  for  his  people,"  said 
Editha  ;  "  and  he  had  a  great  right,  and  a  great  purpose  ; 
and  these  foresters  seem  to  me  to  have  no  great  purpose, 
no  great  national  hope.  They  harass  the  Norman  knights 
and  sheriffs  in  their  neighbourhood,  and  rescue  some  in- 
nocent, oppressed  people,  and  avenge  others,  but  there  it 
ends.  The  Normans  avenge  their  jrengeance  on  some 
other  helpless  Saxons,  and  the  laws  continue  unchanged, 
and  the  evil  really  unredressed." 

"  But,"  said  the  young  man,  impatiently,  "  there  is  not 
one  of  our  race  who  does  not  wish  well  to  the  free  for- 
esters. Would  Father  Osyth  visit  them  if  they  were  so 
much  in  the  wrong  ?" 

"  He  may  be  afraid  of  their  becoming  worse,"  she  said. 
"  It  would  be  an  evil  thing  if  the  priests  only  ministered 
to  saints."  - 

For  an  instant  a  fear  which  had  often  crossed  Siward's 
heart  took  possession  of  it,  and  he  said,  abruptly,  "  Edi- 
tha, can  your  heart  be  grown  cold  to  your  people  ?  A 
better  home,  in  good  sooth,  than  any  I  can  ever  offer, 
may  easily  be  yours !" 

"  Siward !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  trembling  with 
feeling,  as  she  withdrew  her  hand  from  his. 

"  Nay,"  he  continued,  in  low  rapid  tones,  "  if  I  do  not 
say  this  now,  I  never  shall ;  and,  Heaven  knows,  nothing 
but  a  love  stronger  than  I  am  could  make  me  speak. 
The  young  knight  Bernard  de  Garenne  is  not  like  his 
father.    He  is,  I  believe  fi  *mly,  a  true  knight  according 


302  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

to  their  Norman  chivalry,  brave  and  true,  and  reverent 
to  women  •  at  least,  to  fair  and  noble  women  such  as 
thou.  He  has  seen  theo,  and,  I  know,  thinks  thee  fairer 
than  any  other  maiden.  He  says  the  Norman  ladies  may 
be  fair  as  mortals  may  be,  but  thou  art  fair  as  Mary,  our 
Lady.  In  thine  eyes,  and  thy  fair  hair,  and  on  thy  white, 
calm  brow,  he  sees  the  beauty  as  of  heaven.  Hast  thou 
seen  him  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  and  spoken  to  him,"  she  said.  "  He 
seems  good  and  true  as  any  Norman  can  be.  But  I  had 
rather  live  in  any  forest  glade  among  the  outlawed  Sax- 
ons than  in  the  fairest  castle  of  any  Norman  robber  in 
the  land.  There  are  no  torture-chambers  in  the  forest ; 
and  besides,  Siward,  what  is  any  home  but  thine  to 
me?" 

For  a  little  while  Father  Osyth  and  Aldred  the  Thane 
had  the  conversation  to  themselves.  And  then  it  was 
without  any  remnant  of  bitterness  or  anxiety  in  his  voice 
that  Siward  resumed,  although  in  tones  not  calculated  at 
all  to  disturb  the  two  old  men  by  the  fire, — 

"  Yet  thou  wouldst  rather  have  me  join  the  Crusade 
than  the  free  foresters  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said  ;  "  I  think  it  is  nobler  for  thee  ;  and  I 
had  rather  we  should  suffer  anything  so  that  we  choose 
what  is  right." 

The  next  day  Siward  knelt  before  the  missionary  monk 
who  was  preaching  the  Crusade  througli  England,  re- 
ceived the  liberating  cross,  and  was  a  freeman.  Even 
in  its  faintest  and  coldest  reflections  such  power  for  bless- 
ing lingered  art  und  that  symbol  of  redeeming  grace. 


SAXOtf  ;1ND  NOBMAK  303 

II. 

A  FEW  days  afterwards  the  young  night  Bernard 
de  Garenne  was  riding  alone  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  forest  in  the  early  morning,  when  he  caught  the 
murmur  of  a  low  charit  from  the  ruined  church  of  one  of 
the  many  Saxon  villages  which  the  Normans  had  burnt 
in  Northumbria.  The  peasants  had  been  massacred,  and 
their  poor  wooden  houses  had  easily  been  reduced  to 
ashes.  There  was  nothing  to  mark  the  site  of  the  village 
but  a  little  undulation  of  the  ground,  where  the  ashes  of 
village  and  villagers  had  been  lying  for  nearly  twenty 
years,  as  if  the  bosom  of  the  Earth  had  heaved  a  gentle 
sigli  as  she  took  them  to  her  keeping, — and  a  little  deeper 
richness  in  the  tint  of  the  wild  herbage  which  had  re- 
placed the  gardens  and  cultivated  fields.  The  chancel 
of  the  church  being  of  stone  still  stood.  It  was  from 
under  its  roof  that  the  sound  of  the  low  chant  came. 

"  Some  of  the  shrines  of  those  old  Saxon  saints  of  whom 
no  one  else  ever  heard,"  thought  the  young  knight,  "  yet 
to  which  these  old  Saxons  so  obstinately  cling.  Danger- 
ous haunts,  my  father  says,  for  the  spirit  of  discontent 
and  insurrection." 

He  dismounted,  and,  leading  his  horse,  moved  softly 
round  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

An  aged  priest  stood  at  the  altar ;  and  before  him 
knelt  three  motionless  figures, — an  old  white-haired  man, 
a  man-at-arms  with  the  red  cross  on  his  shoulder,  and  a 
young  maiden  in  white  linen  dress  and  veil.  The  priest 
held  their  hands  united,  and  then  laid  a  hand  on  each  of 
their  heads  as  they  bowed  before  him,  blessing  them 'and 
their  love  for  life  and  death.  In  a  few  minutes  they 
rose,  the  white  veil  fell  from  the  maiden's  brow,  and  the 


304  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

young  knight  recognised  the  calm  fair  face  of  Editha, 
the  daughter  of  Aldred,  as  she  held  the  hand  of  Siward 
and  looked  up  to  him.  He  turned  quickly  away,  re- 
mounted his  horse,  and  rode  silently  homeward.  The 
whole  scene  left  a  deep  and  sacred  impression  on  him  ; — 
the  calm  of  the  dewy  morning  in  trie  forest ;  the  clinging 
of  the  Saxon  people  to  their  ruined  sanctuaries  and  deso- 
lated homes  ;  this  marriage,  so  different  from  the  glitter 
and  pomp  and  wild  revelling  of  the  weddings  he  had 
seen  ;  the  pure  sweet  face  of  the  Saxon  maiden,  so  full 
of  love  and  trust, — all  seemed  to  open  to  the  young 
knight  a  deeper  world  and  a  higher  life  than  any  he  had 
yet  dreamt  of. 

That  very  day  he  left  his  father's  castle,  riding  with 
the  old  knight  Bertrand  at  the  head  of  a  goodly  troop 
of  mounted  retainers.  Behind  him  rode  Siward,  the 
Saxon  man-at-arms.  Both  had  the  same  vision  in  their 
minds,  and  both  went  silently  on  among  the  gay  and  jest- 
ing company.  But  it  was  long  before  either  spoke  to 
the  other  of  what  lay  deepest  in  the  heart  of  both. 

Two  weeping  women  watched  that  departing  company, 
unknown  to  each  other, — Marguerite,  the  sister  of  Ber- 
nard de  Garenne,  and  Editha  ;  one  from  the  windows  of 
the  new  and  stately  Norman-  castle  on  the  hill,  the  other 
from  the  door  of  the  lowly  Saxon  homestead  among  the 
meadows. 

Marguerite's  Norse  ancestors  had  married  into  Frank- 
ish  and  Breton  families  ;  and  there  was  little  in  her  clear, 
dark  complexion,  her  flashing  hazel  eyes,  and  her  small 
supple  figure,  to  mark  the  original  kinship  of  her  Nor- 
man fathers  with  those  of  the  Saxon  Editha,  with  her  tall 
majestic  form,  her  fair  broad  brow,  and  pensive  blue  eyes 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN  305 

Marguerite  had  thrown  her  embroidery  silks  impa- 
tiently on  the  floor  of  her  room,  and  sat  leaning  her  face 
on  her  small  delicate  hand,  as  she  watched  her  betrothed, 
her  father,  and  her  brother,  with  their  men,  wind  round 
the  hill  from  the  castle  gate.  Her  colours  were  in  her 
knight's  helmet,  scarcely  less  sacred,  he  had  said,  than 
the  cross  on  his  breast.  He  lingered  behind  the  rest  to 
wave  one  last  farewell,  and  then,  as  a  winding  on  the 
road  hid  him  from  her,  she  turned  from  the  window  and 
threw  herself  on  the  couch  in  a  passionate  burst  of  unre- 
strained weeping.  Grief  was  new  to  her,  and  she  had  no 
sorrow  as  yet  which  she  dared  not  fathom.  She  would 
listen  to  no  consolation ;  she  would  drink  this  her  first 
cup  of  bitterness  to  the  dregs, — in  its  bitterest  drops 
there  was  so  much  of  the  sweetness  of  hope  and  memory. 
Therefore  Marguerite  was  inconsolable ;  perplexed  her 
maidens  by  refusing  to  taste  any  food  ;  cried  until  her 
nurse  feared  her  beautiful  eyes  would  be  blinded  ;  and 
declared  all  occupation,  from  the  lute  to  the  embroidery 
frame,  a  mockery  for  one  so  utterly  desolate  as  she 
was. 

Meanwhile  Editha  stood  with  quietly  clasped  hands  at 
her  father's  doorway  till  the  troop  passed.  One  face 
turned  for  one  minute  to  her,  and  she  saw  no  other. 
When  that  last  silent  parting  look  was  over,  and  Siward 
was  hidden  from  her  in  the  throng,  she  clasped  her  hands 
with  one  suppressed  sob  on  her  breast,  and  then  turning 
to  her  father  laid  her  hand  in  his,  and  looking  up  in  his 
blind  face  said, — 

"  These  Normans  have  brought  us  very  low ;  but 
Father  Osyth  says  it  is  by  bringing  us  into  the  low  place 
God  brings  us  near  him." 

"It  is  in  the  song  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  herself,  my 


3  06  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WK 

child,"  said  the  old  man.  "  You  will  chant  it  to  me  this 
evening,  and  we  shall  be  comforted." 

Editha  went  to  the  farm-yard,  where  the  calves  were 
waiting  to  be  fed,  and  the  cows  were  lowing  for  the  milk- 
ing. And  the  homely  household  work  and  the  fresh  eve- 
ning air  relieved  her  heart  of  the  strain  on  it,  so  that 
afterward  she  could  take  her  spinning-wheel  and  talk 
quietly  to  her  father  as  he  told  old  stories  by  the  hearth. 
Tor  the  first  time,  as.  the  tears  fell  fast  over  her  work, 
she  was  glad  he  could  not  see.  But  she  could  not  prevent 
his  hearing  the  trembling  in  her  voice  as  she  tried  to 
chant  him  one  of  her  Saxon  evening  hymns. 

"  Say  it,  my  child  !  Your  voice  is  always  sweet  as  a 
song  to  me." 

And  she  said  in  a  low  voice, — 

"  He  hath  scattered  the  proud  in  the  imagination  of  their  hearts. 
He  hath  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seats,  and  exalted  the 

humble  and  meek. 
He  hath  filled  the  hungry  with  good  things,  and  the  rich  he  hath 

sent  empty  away." 

"  Not  yet,  father !"  she  said,  after  a  brief  pause  when 
she  had  finished.  "  God  has  not  done  that  yet ;  the 
proud  are  not  scattered,  nor  the  mighty  humbled,  nor  the 
meek  exalted  yet." 

"  Mary  the  most  blessed  is  exalted,"  he  said,  thought- 
fully, "  but  that  is  in  heaven ;  and  the  Lord  who  was 
born  of  her,  the  Lord  of  all,  who  was  lowly  in  heart,  was 
lifted  up — but  it  was  on  a  cross.  Perhaps,  my  child,  it 
is  the  same  now.  And  perhaps,"  he  added,  "  we  are  not 
lowly.  It  is  not  quite  the  same  to  be  low  and  to  be 
lowly.  Many  thoughts  come  to  me  in  my  blindness, 
Editha,  as  Father  Osyth  says  the  angels  used  to  come  in 
the  nig  it." 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN  307 

"  Thou  art  lowly  enough,  father,  at  least !"  said  Editha, 
kissing  his  thin  and  withered  hands.  And  she  added 
in  her  heart,  "  God  grant  the  time  be  not  near  for  thee 
to  be  exalted  in  heaven.  I  could  never  bear  to.be  left 
alone  like  that." 

But  that  sorrow  also  came,  and  Editha  was  strength- 
ened to  bear  it.  Comfort  came  with  it  she  had  never 
dreampt  of.  She  had  anticipated  the  bitterness  of  the 
Cup,  but  not  the  compassionate  touch  of  the  Divine  hand 
that  gave  it  her  to  drink. 

When  she  saw  that  noble  and  patient  face  lying  still 
in  death,  and  the  lids  closed  over  the  sightless  eyes  whose 
blindness  she  never  more  should  mourn,  a  strange  feeling  of 
repose  .came  over  her  heart.  All  her  grief  seemed  silenced 
in  the  thought,  "  He  is  at  rest,  and  he  is  seeing  God." 

And  when  at  night  a  large  number  of  her  oppressed 
countrymen  gathered,  from  many  miles  around,  to  do 
honour  to  the  memory  of  the  old  thane,  and  Father  Osyth 
chanted  funeral  psalms  over  his  grave  under  the  ruined 
Saxon  church,  where,  a  few  months  before,  she  had  been 
married,  Editha  felt  as  if  one  goal  in  the  pilgrimage  of 
life  had  been  reached,  and  she  were  nearer  home,  now 
that  one  so  dear  was  safely  there  already. 

Only,  on  returning  to  the  old  homestead  the  emptiness 
and  loneliness  struck  coldly  on  her  heart  as  she  moved 
among  the  farm-servants,  quietly  directing  every  one, 
with  no  one's  will  to  consult  but  her  own. 


III. 

AFTER  the  old  knight  Bertrand  left,  the  country 
around  became  unsettled,  and  scarcely  a  safe  dwell- 
ing-place for  lonely  maidens,  whether  in  castle  or  cottage. 


3o8  THE  EARL T  DA  WN. 

The  Saxon  foresters  grew  bolder  in  their  sallies,  and  the 
Norman  barons  more  reckless  in  their  revenge.  Thus  it 
happened  that  both  the  Saxon  bride  and  the  Norman 
demoiselle  took  refuge  in  the  same  convent,  far  from  the 
troubled  region  of  wronged  Northumbria,  within  the 
walls  of  the  ecclesiastical  city  of  Canterbury.  A  kins- 
woman of  Editha's  was  sub-prioress,  and  an  aunt  of  Mar- 
guerite's was  abbess,  so  that  both  found  a  welcome  and  a 
home  under  the  same  roof. 

Marguerite  came  with  a  stately  train  of  retainers,  and 
brought  rich  gifts  to  the  abbey.  The  great  gates  were 
thrown  wide  to  admit  her,  and  the  abbess  stood  at  the 
door  to  receive  her  noble  guest  with  courtly  hospitality. 
A  cheerful  room  was  assigned  her  and  her  waiting- 
woman,  which  in  a  few  hours  acquired  quite  a  luxurious 
aspect  under  the  tasteful  French  fingers  of  Marguerite 
and  her  maiden.  Silken  shawls  from  the  East  were 
thrown  over  the  couches,  and  tapestried  hangings  draped 
the  walls.  Chased  silver  jewel-boxes  and  perfume-cases 
propped  up  the  steel  mirror  in  its  carved  oaken  frame  ; 
and  as  Marguerite's  small  fingers  ran  over  her  lute,  while 
she  hummed  a  French  chansonnette,  she  felt  quite  at 
home. 

She  did  not  hear  the  low  knock  at  the  postern-gate  by 
which,  that  same  evening,  Father  Osyth  obtained  admit- 
tance for  Editha.  None  of  the  usual  convent  arrange- 
ments were  disturbed  by  the  arrival  of  the  Saxon  maiden. 
Father  Osyth  bade  her  a  kind  farewell,  and  blessed 
her ;  and  the  sub-prioress  bid  her  welcome,  and  kissed 
her  for  her  likeliness  to  her  mother,  and  led  her  to  a  lit- 
tle cell  which  looked  on  the  convent  garden. 

Editha's  cell  was  very  bare  and  plain,  yet  she  also  had 
her  treasures.    An  old  worn  copy  of  the  Saxon  Gospel 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN. 


309 


of  St.  John,  translated  by  the  venerable  Bede,  with 
hymns  at  the  end,  which  she  had  often  read  to  her 
father  j  King  Alfred's  Boethius  j  and  a  book  of  Saxon 
ballads,  out  of  which  she  and  Siward  had  learned  to 
read ;  the  harp  to  which  her  father  had  been  used  to 
sing  in  the  old  days  when  Saxon  homes  were  homes  of 
feasting,  and  every  guest  had  a  song.  Simple,  time- 
worn  things,  yet  with  more  of  the  true  elements  of 
genuine  civilization  in  them  than  all  the  rich  bijouterie 
of  Marguerite's  chamber.  A  Bible  and  a  literature,  and 
the  sacred  ancestral  memory  of  holy  men  and  heroes — 
these  were  treasures  such  as  no  Norman  possessed  in  the 
days  when  the  Conqueror  subdued  Saxon  England. 

Editha  felt  it,  and  not  a  shade  of  envy  passed  across 
her  mind  when,  a  few  days  afterward,  she  was  sum- 
moned to  Marguerite's  fairy  bower  to  accomplish  a  pretty 
fancy  which  the  young  lady  had  adopted,  of  learning  to 
spin.  She  honestly  felt  on  a  higher  level  than  her  pretty, 
wayward  pupil,  and  contemplated  her  various  dainty 
little  affectations  with  the  kind  of  tranquil  dignity  with 
which  a  lion  might  observe  the  gambols  of  a  kitten. 

Marguerite  was  at  first  sure  that  her  hands  were  too 
small  to  grasp  the  distaff,  and  then  that  it  was  too  diffi- 
cult for  any  one  that  was  not  born  to  it ;  and  finally  the 
secret ~  of  her  purpose  was  revealed,  as  she  confidently 
told  Edith  that  her  betrothed,  the  young  Lord  Walter 
de  Richemont,  had  said  a  woman's  hands  never  looked 
so  dainty  and  small  as  when  flashing  to  and  fro  at  the 
spinning-wheel. 

"Your  hands  are  very  white  and  well  shaped,"  she 
said,  speaking  Anglo-Saxon  with  a  French  accent ;  "  though 
they  are  rather  large.  They  look  really  pretty  as  you 
spin  like  that.    Did  any  one  ever  tell  you  so  ?" 


3  io  THE  EARLY  DA  WK 

Editha  coloured,  and  said  people  had  sometimes  praised 
her  work,  but  that  no  one  had  ever  taken  the  liberty  to 
admire  her  hands. 

"  Ah,"  sighed  Marguerite,  "  your  Saxon  people  have  no 
galanterie,  no  romance !  I  will  sing  you  a  chansonnette 
that  was  once  composed  in  honour  of  my  hands." 

And  she  took  her  lute,  and  sang  in  a  warbling,  flexible 
voice. 

"  Is  not  that  gentiUe  f  she  said. 

Editha  smiled. 

"  But  you  have  no  poetry ;  perhaps  you  do  not  under- 
stand," said  Marguerite. 

"  I  do  not  understand  French,"  said  Editha,  proudly. 
"  Our  poetry  is  about  something  else  than  pretty  fin- 
gers." 

"  About  what  ?"  asked  Marguerite. 

"  About  brave  men,  and  fair  and  loving  women,"  said 
Editha ;  "  about  battles,  and  heroic  deeds,  and  life  and 
death." 

"  Very  grave,"  said  Marguerite,  slightly  raisng  her  eye- 
brows ;  "  in  French,  we  put  all  that  in  sermons." 

"  Life  has  become  very  grave  in  England  lately,"  said 
Editha. 

"  I  am  sure  I  think  so,"  sighed  Marguerite.  "  From 
what  my  aunt  says,  it  must  have  been  much  pleasanter  in 
France.  For  my  part,  I  wish  William  of  Normandy, 
and  my  grandfather  and  father  had  stayed  at  home  and 
left  England  to  the  Saxons.  What  with  the  Crusades 
and  these  wild  foresters,  life  is  anything  but  a  fete 
to  me." 

"  You  have  kindred  at  the  Crusade  ?"  asked  Editha, 
for  the  first  time  aroused  to  interest. 

"  My  father,  my  brother  and  my  betrothed  are  there," 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN. 


311 


was  the  reply.  "I  am  expecting  a  messenger  with  tidings 
and  gifts  every  day." 

"They  will  send  you  messengers  to  say  how  they 
speed !"  said  Editha,  for  the  first  time  tempted  to  envy 
her  pupil. 

"Doubtless"  said  Marguerite.  "How  could  I  live 
without  that?" 

"Other  women  have  to  live  without  that," said  Editha. 

"  You  mean  the  relations  of  the  people  who  have  no 
messengers  to  send,"  said  Marguerite.  "  I  never  thought 
of  that.  I  suppose  the  men-at-arms  and  bow-men  have 
also  brides  and  sisters  to  leave  behind.  But  then,"  she 
added,  languidly,  "  they  do  not  feel  as  I  do.  I  am  sure 
they  cannot.  For  the  very  evening  the  knights  left, 
when  I  was  crying  so  that  I  could  not  taste  anything,  my 
nurse  went  as  quietly  about  her  work  as  ever,  although 
her  husband  and  son  had  gone  with  my  father." 

"  Perhaps,  lady,  your  nurse  kept  her  tears  back,"  said 
Editha,  quietly;  "then  they  show  less,  but  hurt  more." 

"Perhaps,"  ssrid  Marguerite,  as  if  a  new  light  was 
breaking  upon  her.  "  I  remember  afterwards  she  had  a 
severe  illness."  Then  glancing  quickly  at  Editha,  she 
said  seriously,  watching  her  as  she  plied  the  distaff,  "  It 
must  be  terribly  sad  to  be  separated  from  those  we  love 
and  never  to  hear  of  them.     It  must  be  like  death." 

"  It  is,"  said  Editha,  quietly.  "  If  it  were  not  for  the 
hope,  death  would  be  easier  to  bear." 

"  Easier !"  exclaimed  Marguerite,  with  a  shudder,  as  if 
she  had  felt  an  icy  touch  on  her  heart. 

"  Yes,"  said  Editha,  looking  up,  and  fixing  her  large, 
thoughtful  eyes  on  Marguerite,  "  I  have  found  it  almost 
easier.  We  know  more  about  the  dead  ;  at  least,  more 
about  those  they  are  with." 


3i2  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

"  More  about  those  they  are  with !"  said  Marguerite. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Editha,  looking  gravely  at  her,  yet 
as  if  she  was  looking  beyond.  "You  know,  they  are  with 
the  holy  angels  and  the  blessed  saints,  and  Mary,  the 
mother  of  the  Lord,  and  with  the  mild  and  gracious 
Saviour  himself." 

"  If  they  are  saints,"  said  Marguerite;  "but  otherwise! 
Were  all  your  friends,  then,  saints,  who  died  ?"    , 

"  I  have  only  lost  one,"  said  Editha,  "  and  he  was  noble 
as  King  Alfred,  and  humble  as  Bede  or  St.  Cuthbert. 
If  the  holy  angels  carried  Lazarus  to  his  rest,  I  am  sure 
they  were  waiting  for  my  father.  Besides,  since  Lazarus 
died,  the  Son  of  God  has  lived  on  this  middle  earth,  and 
has  died  for  our  sins.  And  we  must  surely  be  sure  to 
find  a  welcome  in  paradise  now  that  the  Lord  and  the 
penitent  thief  are  there." 

"You  know  a  great  many  things,"  observed  Mar- 
guerite. 

"  I  have  a  Saxon  Gospel  of  St.  John,"  replied  Editha. 

"  Were  all  those  good  men  you  speak  of  in  the  Saxon 
Gospel  of  St.  John?"  asked  Marguerite.  "I  did  not 
know  there  was  so  much  good  written  in  Saxon." 

"  King  Alfred,  and  Bede,  and  St.  Cuthbert  are  not  in 
the  Gospels,"  replied  Editha.  "  They  are  our  Saxon  king 
and  saints." 

"  Are  there,  then,  Saxon  saints  in  the  calendar  and  in 
heaven  ?"  asked  Marguerite. 

"  There  certainly  are  in  the  calendar,"  replied  Editha  ; 
"  but  I  am  not  sure  whether  they  are  called  Saxon  and 
Norman  in  heaven.  My  Gospel  speaks  of  one  fold  and 
one  flock  there." 

"  You  know  a  great  many  things,"  repeated  Marguerite, 
humbly.    "  You  can  spin,  and  read,  and  repeat  the  Holy 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN. 


3*3 


Scriptures  like  a  mass-priest.  Who  taught  you  all 
this?" 

"  My  mother  first,"  replied  Editha,  "  and  then  Father 
Osyth." 

"  I  never  knew  my  mother,"  said  Marguerite ;  "  and  no 
priest  ever  taught  me  anything  but  the  Creed  and  the 
Paternoster  in  Latin.  Can  you  write  ?"  she  exclaimed, 
interrupting  herself ;  "  and  will  you  teach  me  ?  I  should 
like  it  better  than  spinning.  And  I  might  send  a  letter 
to  Walter  or  to  Bernard.  Yet,  what  would  be  the  use 
of  that  ?"  she  added,  laughingly ;  "  neither  Walter  nor 
Bernard  can  read  or  write,  and  they  might  not  like  me 
better  for  knowing  more  than  they  do." 

Editha  was  summoned  by  the  sub-prioress,  and  so 
closed  for  the  time  the  intercourse  of  the  Norman  and 
Saxon  maidens. 

There  was  both  mutual  attraction  and  repulsion  in  it. 
Editha  felt  a  motherly  pity  for  the  frank  and  trusting 
child  who  had  never  known  a  mother.  At  the  same 
time  her  pride  was  roused  by  seeing  the  substantial 
advantages  of  wealth  and  power  in  the  hands  of  what 
seemed  to  her  the  lower  and  shallower  race.  Yet  the 
pride  thus  wounded  was  appeased  by  Marguerite's  ac- 
knowledgment of  inferiority ;  and  she  could  not  help 
admiring  the  tact  which  led  the  maiden,  apparently  so 
childish,  instinctively  to  glance  away  from  any  subject 
that  might  give  pain. 

That  outward  refinement  and  grace  which  she  was  in- 
clined to  despise  seemed,  she  felt,  to  react  inward,  and 
give  a  considerateness  to  the  feelings.  And  that  night, 
kneeling  down  by  her  hay-stuffed  bed  on  the  floor  of  her 
cell,  her  father's  words  came  back  to  her,  "It  is  not 
the  same  to  be  low  and  to  be  lowly  ;"  and  reproaching 
14 


314  THE  EARLY  J)AWK 

herself  for  her  pride,  and  contrasting  it  with  Marguerite's 
graceful  self-depreciatiou,  she  concluded  that  the  Norman 
maiden  was  holier  than  herself,  and  penitently  seeking 
forgiveness,  resolved  at  their  next  interview  to  be  less 
bent  on  the  glorification  of  her  people. 

With  Marguerite  the  process  was  different.  Her  con- 
tented self-complacency,  clouded  for  an  instant  by  com- 
parison with  the  accomplishments  of  the  Saxon,  rallied 
quickly  on  a  brief  survey  of  herself  in  the  mirror,  as  she 
recalled  the  various  compliments  which  had  done  homage 
to  her  beauty  ;  and  how,  when  Bernard,  her  brother,  had 
said  that  Saxon  women  were  like  alabaster  images  of 
saints,  Walter  had  replied  that  one  diamond  was  worth 
many  pearls,  and  the  flash  of  a  Norman  eye  was  better 
than  the  whiteness  of  any  Saxon  eyelid. 

Moreover,  Marguerite  had  further  recourse  for  con- 
solation to  her  waiting-woman,  who  assured  her  that  the 
Saxons  were  for  the  most  part  little  better  than  beasts 
of  burden  or  clowns.  Saints  they  might  have  had,  she 
could  not  say ;  it  was  said  that  some  even  of  the  holy 
apostles  had  not  been  born  gentlemen.  Books  they  migh  t 
have,  such  as  monks  read  in  monasteries ;  but  knights 
they  certainly  had  not,  nor  trouveres,  nor  castles,  nor 
anything  that  made  life  gay  and  fit  for  young  seigneurs 
and  dames. 

Thus,  in  their  various  ways,  the  maidens  were  con- 
soled. The  fountain  of  Marguerite's  humility  was  not  so 
deep  as  Editha  in  her  simplicity  supposed.  Editha  had 
as  little  idea  of  the  consolations  of  vanity  as  Marguerite 
of  the  bitterness  of  pride.  Yet,  in  spite  of  dissimilarity 
and  mutual  misunderstanding,  the  two  were  drawn  to 
each  other.  Editha  took  much  pains  to  instruct  her 
quick,  but  by  no  means  patient,  pupil ;  and  Marguerite,  on 


SAXON  AND  NORM  AN  3 1 5 

the  other  hand,  never  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  any 
brilliant  show  or  pageant  that  she  did  not  offer  to  share 
it  with  Editha.  Royal  processions  and  pompous  Norman 
festivities,  however,  had  no  attractions  for  Editha  ;  and 
she  so  steadily  declined  to  attend  them,  that  Marguerite 
said  one  day, — 

"  You  have  learned  to  read  Latin,  you  will  not  have 
anything  to  do  with  worldly  pomp — it  is  plain  you  must 
be  preparing  to  be  a  nun,  if  you  are  not  one  already." 

"  I  am  not  a  nun,  and  I  trust  I  never  shall  be  one,"  re- 
plied Editha,  with  a  solemnity  which  seemed  to  Mar- 
guerite very  disproportionate  to  the  occasion.  All  her 
little  treasures  of  memory  and  hope  had  long  since  bubbled 
up  to  the  surface  in  conversation,  and  she  had  no  con- 
ception of  the  hidden  springs  of  love  and  recollection 
that  lay  deep  in  Editha's  heart.  But  the  jest  with  which 
she  was  prepared  to  dissipate  Editha's  gravity  died  from 
her  lips  as,  looking  up,  she  saw  in  Editha's  eyes,  not  a 
lofty  determination,  which  she  could  have  ridiculed  mer- 
cilessly, but  tears. 

For  some  time  after  that  she  did  not  venture  to  invite 
Editha  to  any  festivity,  until  at  last  she  induced  her  to 
attend  the  consecration  of  a  new  church  by  Archbishop 
Anselm. 

There  was  all  the  pomp  of  silken  banners,  crimson  and 
purple,  of  gold  and  silver  crosses,  priests  in  gorgeous 
robes,  knights  in  glittering  armour  on  richly-caparisoned 
steeds,  ladies  in  silks  and  cloth  of  gold  on  ambling  pal- 
freys ;  and  within  the  church,  music,  massive  carved  porch 
and  window ;  solemn  shade  broken  by  mellow  light 
through  stained  windows,  by  the  gleam  of  altar-plate 
and  the  flash  of  arms,  and  the  shining  of  many  tapers ; 
all  harmonized  to  the  senses  by  the  echoes  of  the  lofty 


3i6  THE  EARLY  DAWK 

aisles,  and  the  dreamy  aromatic  perfume  of  the  incense 
swung  from  silver  censers.  All  this,  and  Archbishop 
Anselm's  sermon. 

For  once,  as  the  maidens  sat  together  in  Marguerite's 
chamber  on  the  evening  of  the  festival,  the  same  feeling 
seemed  to  possess  them  both. 

In  the  twilight  they  sat  together,  hand  in  hand  in  silence. 

"  How  glorious  the  music  was,  and  the  light,  and  the 
incense !  I  felt  as  if  I  were  in  paradise,"  said  Margue- 
rite at  length. 

Editha  was  silent  still,  but  Marguerite  felt  tears  fall- 
ing on  her  hand. 

"  Did  anything  give  you  pain  to-day?"  she  asked,  gently. 

"  Oh  no,"  was  the  reply  ;  "  it  was  the  words,  Arch- 
bishop Anselm's  words." 

"  The  sermon  ?"  said  Marguerite,  hesitating.  "  Yes, 
his  manner  is  majestic,  but  he  looked  more  like  a  monk 
meditating  in  his  cell,  than  a  princely  archbishop,  although 
they  say  he  has  maintained  a  bold  contest  with  the  king 
for  the  rights  of  the  Church.  His  voice  was  very  solemn, 
but  what  were  the  words  which  touched  you  so  deeply  ?" 

"  He  said,"  replied  Editha,  (speaking  slowly  and  softly, 
as  if  she  were  still  listening,  and  merely  repeating  the 
words  after  the  preacher,)  " '  The  mercy  of  God,  for  which 
there  appeared  no  place  when  we  were  considering  the 
justice  of  God  and  the  sin  of  man,  we  find  to  be  so  great 
and  so  harmonious  with  justice  that  nothing  can  be  con- 
ceived more  righteous  than  that  mercy.  For  what  can 
be  imagined  more  merciful  than  when  to  the  sinner 
doomed  to  eternal  punishment,  and  unable  to  redeem 
himself,  God  the  Father  says,  Take  my  only-begotten 
Son — I  give  him  for  thee  ;  and  the  Son  says,  Take  me, 
and  redeem  thyself.'     And  afterwards,"  she  continued, 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN 


317 


"  he  looked  up  and  said,  '  Holy  Father,  look  down  from 
the  height  of  thy  sanctuary,  and  behold  this  mighty  sac- 
rifice which  our  great  High  Priest,  thy  holy  child  Jesus, 
offers  for  the  sins  of  his  brethren,  and  have  mercy  on  the 
multitude  of  our  transgressions.  Behold  the  voice  of 
our  brother  Jesus  crieth  to  thee  from  the  cross.  See,  O 
Father,  this  is  the  coat  of  thy  Son,  the  true  Joseph  ;  an 
evil  beast  hath  devoured  him.  The  monster  hath  in  his 
fury  mangled  the  beautiful  garment  and  steeped  it  in 
blood  ;  and  see,  he  hath  left  in  it  five  lamentable  wounds. 
But  now,  0  Father,  we  know  that  thy  Son  liveth,  and  he 
ruleth  throughout  all  the  land  of  Egypt,  nay,  through  all 
places  of  thy  dominion.  Raised  from  the  prison  of  death, 
and  having  exchanged  the  prison-garment  of  the  flesh  for 
the  robe  of  immortality,  thou  hast  received  him  on  high  ; 
and  now,  crowned  with  glory  and  honour,  at  the  right 
hand  of  thy  majesty,  he  appears  in  thy  presence  for  us. 
For  he  is  our  own  flesh  and  our  brother.  Look,  0  Lord, 
on  the  countenance  of  thy  Christ,  who' became  obedient 
to  thee  even  unto  death  ;  nor  let  the  prints  of  his  wounds 
ever  recede  from  thy  sight,  that  thou  mayest  remember 
what  a  satisfaction  for  our  sins  thou  hast  from  him  re- 
ceived. Nay,  even  let  those  sins  of  ours  by  which  we 
have  merited  thy  wrath  be  weighed  in  a  balance,  and 
over  against  them  weigh  the  sorrows  suffered  on  our  be- 
half by  thy  innocent  Son.  Assuredly  those  sorrows  will 
prevail,  so  that  for  their  sake  thou  wilt  rather  let  forth 
thy  compassion  upon  us,  than  for  our  sins  in  wrath  shut 
up  thy  tender  mercies.  Thanks,  O  Father,  for  thy 
abounding  love,  which  did  not  spare  the  only  Son  of  thy 
bosom,  but  did  deliver  him  up  to  the  death  for  us,  that 
we  might  have  him  with  thee  an  Advocate  so  mighty  and 
so  faithful.     And  to  thee,  Lord  Jesus,  what  thanks  shall 


3i8  THE  EARLY  DAWK 

I  repay,  a  worthless  thing  of  dust  and  ashes  ?  What 
couldst  thou  have  done  for  my  salvation  that  thou  hast 
not  done  ?  To  snatch  me  from  the  gulf  of  perdition  thou 
didst  plunge  into  the  sea  of  thy  passion,  and  the  waters 
entered  in  even  to  thy  soul.  For  to  restore  my  lost  soul 
to  me,  thou  didst  deliver  thine  own  soul  to  death.  And 
by  a  double  debt  thou  hast  bound  me  to  thee.  For  what 
thou  didst  give,  and  for  what  thou  didst  lose  on  my  be- 
half, I  am  thy  debtor ;  and  for  my  life  twice  given,  in 
creation  first,  in  redemption  next,  what  can  I  render  ? 
For  were  mine  the  heaven  and  the  earth,  and  all  their 
glory,  to  render  these  were  not  to  repay  thee  what  I  owe. 
And  even  that  which  I  ought  to  render  it  is  of  thy  gift 
if  I  do  give  it.  To  love  thee  with  ali  my  heart  and  soul, 
and  to  follow  in  the  steps  of  Him  who  died  for  me,  how 
can  I  do  this  except  through  thee  ?  Let  my  soul  cleave 
fast  to  thee,  for  on  thee  all  its  strength  depends/  "* 

Editha's  face  kindled  as  she  repeated  these  words  with 
a  deep  and  joyful  enthusiasm  which  broke  through  her 
reserve. 

"  It  seemed  to  me,"  she  said, "  as  if  music,  incense,  priests, 
people,  solid  walls,  all  vanished  like  a  dream,  and  I  saw 
only  the  unseen — God  the  Almighty  giving  his  Son  for 
me,  Jesus  the  Lord  giving  his  life  for  me.  I  knew  before 
that  God  had  loved  us,  but  I  never  knew  how  much.  I 
knew  there  was  a  Redeemer,  but  I  never  understood  we 
were  really  redeemed.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  give  or 
suffer  anything  in  return  for  love  like  that." 

Marguerite  awoke  the  next  morning  with  a  feeling  of 
awe  in  her  heart,  as  Editha's  words  came  back  to  her. 
It  seemed  as  if  an  invisible  presence  had  touched  her  for 

*  From  Anselm's  Meditations,  quoted  by  Dr.  Hamilton  in  his  "  Christian 
Classics." 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN  3 1 9 

the  first  time,  and  as  if  her  former  life  had  been  a  dream, 
and  this  were  waking. 

Editha  woke  with  a  heart  full  of  lowliness  and  joy. 
It  seemed  as  if  all  her  former  life  had  been  spent  in  the 
night,  and  this  were  day.  And  she  felt  a  strange  new 
delight  in  the  thought  of  the  humble  labours  to  which 
she  was  called  in  the  convent.  "  For  God,  for  Christ," 
seemed  written  on  every  duty ;  and  the  lowlier  the 
sweeter  to  her  who  had  been  redeemed  by  the  shame  and 
agony  of  the  cross. 

Not  long  afterward  she  saw  Father  Osyth,  and  told 
him  how  the  words  of  Archbishop  Anselm  had  entered 
into  her  inmost  heart. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said.  "  Dearer  to  Archbishop  Anselm, 
they  say,  to  hold  communion  with  God  in  his  cell  than 
to  sit  on  the  archbishop's  throne  ;  and  yet  he  hath  cour- 
age to  resist  the  fierce  king  for  what  he  deems  right. 
Moreover,"  continued  the  old  man,  "he  doth  honour  to 
our  Saxon  saints ;  for  once  when  Archbishop  Lanfranc 
spoke  slightingly  of  our  archbishop,  the  martyr  St.  Al- 
pliege,  (who  suffered  the  Danes  to  kill  him,  his  gray  head 
falling  under  the  cruel  missiles,  rather  than  exact  an  enor- 
mous ransom  from  his  poor  plundered  fellow-citizens,)  and 
said  it  was  unreasonable  to  call  a  man  a  martyr  who  died 
not  for  the  Christian  faith,  but  because  he  would  not  ran- 
som his  life  from  the  enemy,  Anselm  replied  :  \  Nay,  it  is 
certain  that  he  who  died  rather  than  offend  God  by  a 
small  offense,  would  much  rather  have  died  than  provoke 
him  by  a  greater  sin.  Alphege  would  not  ransom  his 
life,  because  he  would  not  allow  his  dependents  to  be  dis- 
tressed by  losing  their  property  for  him ;  much  less, 
therefore,  would  he  have  denied  his  Saviour  if  the  fury 
of  the  people  had  attempted  by  fear  of  death  to  force 


3  20  THE  EARL  T  DA  WIST. 

him  to  such  a  crime.  He  who  dies  for  the  cause  of  truth 
and  righteousness  is  a  martyr,  as  St.  John  the  Baptist 
was,  who  suffered,  not  because  he  would  not  deny  Christ, 
but  because  he  resolved,  in  maintaining  the  law  of  God, 
not  to  shrink  from  speaking  the  truth.' " 

"  I  see,"  said  Editha,  "  it  is  then  obedience  in  which 
God  delights,  whether  in  little  things  or  in  great.  That 
makes  so  many  things  plain  and  easy  to  me,  Father 
Osytli." 

"  It  is  well,  my  child,"  was  the  old  man's  reply.  "  Arch- 
bishop Anselm  also  saith  that  the  heart  is  like  a  mill, 
ever  grinding,  which  should  only  grind  the  Master's 
grain,  but  oftentimes  an  enemy  throws  in  sand  and 
gravel,  or  pitch,  or  dirt  and  chaff.  The  mill  ever  grind- 
ing is  the  heart  ever  thinking  ;  the  gravel  and  dirt  are 
evil  thoughts,  and  the  good  grain  meditations  concerning 
God  and  holy  tilings.  Keep  thou  thy  heart  then  full  of 
the  fine  wheat,  my  daughter,  and  there  will  be  no  room 
for  the  enemy  to  throw  in  his  chaff." 


IV. 

WHILST  Marguerite  de  Garenne  and  Editha  the 
daughter  of  Aldred  the  Thane  were  thus  pass- 
ing tranquil  days  in  the  convent,  the  young  lords  Ber- 
nard and  Walter,  and  Siward  the  man-at-arms,  were 
faring  very  differently.  Deeds  rather  than  thoughts  were 
their  fare,  or,  if  thought  came,  it  was  of  that  rude  and 
intense  vitality  which  springs  up  amidst  the  tempest  in 
the  crevices  of  active  life. 

The  Crusade  was  set  in  array  among  the  forests  and 
vineyards  on  the  hilly  banks  of  the  Moselle,  under  the 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN  3  2 I 

leadership  of  the  brave  and  devout  Godfrey  of  Bouillon  ; 
the  only  successful  crusade — the  only  crusade  which  could 
boast  of  "  Jerusalem  delivered." 

Both  Bernard  and  Siward  found  the  names  of  their 
races  everywhere  as  they  wandered  through  Europe,  the 
great  expedition  necessarily  dividing  itself  into  various 
bands,  so  as  to  find  shelter  and  food  by  the  way,  and  not 
by  their  mere  numbers  prove  a  curse  to  the  lands  they 
traversed. 

On  many  a  rocky  promontory  along  the  southern 
shores  of  Europe,  Bernard  found  some  of  his  daring  and 
restless  kinsmen  established  in  castles  overlooking  some 
captured  town  or  guarding  some  fair  harbour.  Siward, 
on  the  other  hand,  found  the  names  of  his  countrymen 
not  among  the  living  terrors  of  mankind,  but  among  their 
sainted  dead.  Along  the  Rhine,  in  remote  corners  of 
Germany  or  Switzerland,  in  abbey  and  church,  in  city 
and  village,  he  came  on  the  name  of  his  countrymen 
among  the  benefactors  of  the  country.  The  shrines  of 
the  Saxon  Willibrord,  the  Saxon  Winfried  (Boniface  and 
Clement),  the  evangelist  of  Friesland,  and  the  apostle  of 
Germany,  were  only  second  in  the  reverence  of  the  peo- 
ple to  those  of  apostles  or  martyrs  of  apostolic  times. 

One  evening  when  the  troop  were  riding  silently  along 
the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  relying  on  their  privileges  as 
crusaders  to  bear  them  safely  past  the  robber  strongholds 
which  were  then  beginning  to  bristle  on  the  heights,  the 
bell  of  a  village  church  called  them  to  vespers. 

As  soldiers  of  the  cross,  they  dismounted,  in  turn,  to 
pay  their  devotion  at  the  altar  and  to  receive  the  priestly 
benediction.  When  the  service  was  finished,  the  priest, 
hearing  that  they  came  from  England,  gave  them  a  cor- 
dial welcome,  and  a  blessing  in  the  name  of  the  patrons 
14* 


322 


THE  EARLY  DAWK 


of  his  church,  the  Black  and  the  White  Hewald,  who, 
four  hundred  years  ago,  had  come,  he  said,  from  Saxon 
England  to  preach  the  faith  to  the  heathen  on  the  Rhine, 
and  on  that  spot  had  laid  down  their  lives  in  martyrdom. 

"  This  honour  is  due  to  you,"  said  Bernard  turning  to 
Siward  ;  "  our  Norman  pedigrees  have  contributed  little, 
I  fear,  to  the  list  of  the  saints." 

It  was  decided  that  the  little  troop  should  accept  the 
good  priest's  hospitality,  and  remain  that  night  under 
his  roof,  Siward  and  the  other  Saxon  men-at-arms,  by 
the  alliance  of  their  mother-tongue  with  that  of  the  vil- 
lagers, being  moreover  able  to  make  their  wants  under- 
stood. 

The  rest  of  the  troop  were  soon  asleep  for  the  night 
on  the  rushes  strewn  in  the  priest's  kitchen  ;  but  the  in- 
cident of  that  evening  had  awakened  many  thoughts  in 
Siward's  mind.  The  priest  and  he  prolonged  their  con- 
versation late  into  the  night,  discoursing  of  names  well 
known  to  both,  of  Boniface  and  Willibrord,  and  of  the 
last  mission  of  the  Saxon  Church  ;  how  at  his  own  re- 
quest English  priests  and  teachers  were  sent  to  king 
Olave  of  Norway,  and  how  he  embraced  the  faith  and 
was  baptized ;  how  afterward  he  showed  his  gratitude 
by  helping  with  his  ships  to  drive  the  Danes  from  Lon- 
don, destroying  London  Bridge,  which  linked  the  Danish 
armies  at  Southwark  and  London  together  ;  and  how  at 
length  he  proved  the  sincerity  of  his  faith  by  dying  for 
it — king  Olave,  saint  and  martyr.  Long  after  the  con- 
versation ceased,  Siward  lay  awake  thinking  how  times 
had  changed,  and  wondering  over  again  David's  old 
wonder  at  the  prosperity  of  the  wicked. 

"  We  were  not  the  Pharisees,"  he  thought.  "  We  did 
not  seek  to  shut  others  out  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN  323 

Our  fathers  opened  its  gates  to  nations.  Norway,  Fries- 
land,  Rhineland,  and  Old  Saxony,  trace  the  first  dawning 
of  their  Christianity  to  Saxon  England.  And  now  these 
Normans,  who  never  did  good  to  man  or  nation — a  peo- 
ple without  books,  without  saints,  without  a  purpose  in 
the  world  except  selfish  wealth  and  selfish  power — drive 
us  out  of  home  and  country,  plunder  our  towns,  ruin  our 
homes,  desecrate  the  shrines  of  our  saints,  and  none  come 
to  our  help  in  heaven  or  earth." 

It  was  the  old  bitter  cry  of  human  impatience,  "  Our 
life  endures  but  a  day,  and  shall  the  steps  of  God's  jus- 
tice be  measured  by  centuries  ?" 

"  Why  sayest  thou,  0  Jacob,  and  speakest,  0  Israel, 
My  way  is  hid  from  the  Lord,  and  my  judgment  is  passed 
over  from  my  God  ?" 

Siward  rose  softly  from  among  his  sleeping  comrades, 
and  went  into  the  little  church.  There,  by  the  graves  of 
his  martyred  countrymen,  larger  and  less  bitter  thoughts 
came  to  him. 

"  It  is  on  the  graves  of  martyrs  I  kneel,"  he  thought, 
"  and  the  graves  .have  become  shrines  of  the  very  faith 
for  which  they  died." 

Eternity  seemed  to  expand  around  time,  like  the  starry, 
boundless  heavens  above  the  earth.  Going  back  over  the 
past,  he  thought  how  long  it  was  since  the  last  mission 
had  gone  forth  from  Saxon  England.  Then  this  cheer- 
ing thought  came : 

"Perhaps  God  thought  our  nation  worth  chastening. 
He  does  not  waste  his  ploughing  on  the  barren  sand. 
Perhaps  we  are  but  living  in  one  of  the  seed-times  of 
the  ages,  and  the  harvest  will  be  better  than  we  can 
think." 

Then  recurring  to  his  own  life,  he  thought  how  far 


324 


TEE  EARLY  DAWK 


sweeter  and  better  his  Editha  was  than  any  woman  he 
had  ever  seen,  and  how  sorrow  had  made  her  so.  And 
humble  thoughts  followed — such  as  spring  naturally  from 
true  and  deep  love — of  his  own  unworthiness.  He  who 
knelt  on  the  graves  of  martyrs  and  claimed  them  for  his 
kindred,  and  their  deeds  as  his  people's  heritage,  what 
end  had  led  him  hither  ?  Was  it  truly  for  the  wrongs 
of  his  people  he  felt,  or  for  his  own  ?  What  right  had 
he  to  claim  the  sacred  name  of  a  soldier  of  the  cross,  he 
whose  purpose  in  this  war  had  been  simply  to  regain  his 
own  freedom  ?  Were  his  aims,  although  purer  and  more 
legitimate,  really  more  disinterested  than  those  of  the 
Normans  he  so  denounced  ? 

A  large  cross  rose  before  him  in  the  moonlight.  It 
seemed  for  the  first  time  revealed  to  him  what  it  meant 
— the  sins  and  selfishness  that  had  brought  the  sinless 
One  to  his  cross — the  love  and  fullness  of  sacrifice. 

The  vows  and  the  pomp  of  chivalry  were  unknown  to 
Siward.  No  princely  hand  gave  him  the  accolade  of 
knighthood ;  but  there  rose  that  night  from  the  lonely 
shrine  of  the  martyred  Hewalds  as  true  a  knight  as  ever 
strove  to  defend  the  innocent  and  the  helpless. 

"  I  go  a  pilgrim  to  the  Holy  Sepulchre,"  he  thought ; 
"  yet  if  my  heart  fixes  its  highest  earthly  hopes  on  a 
Saxon  home,  I  think  it  is  no  desecration — the  desecra- 
tion has  been  in  my  proud  and  murmuring  heart.  The 
expiation  is  not  in  the  cross  I  bear,  but  in  the  cross  borne 
for  me.  I  have  heard  Father  Osyth  say  that  the  true 
pilgrimage  is  that  to  the  Holy  Jerusalem  above  ;  and  that 
can  be  carried  on  everywhere.  Day  by  day,  wherever  I 
am,  may  I  have  grace  to  be  a  true  soldier  of  the  cross,  to 
do  what  good  I  can,  and  redress  what  wrong  I  can.  And 
then  I  trust  each  day,  whether  I  reach  the  Holy  Sepulchre 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN  325 

or  not,  will  bring  me  nearer  God,  and  nearer  Editha,  who 
serves  God  better  than  any  one  I  know.  What  place 
thou  wilt  on  earth !"  he  prayed,  "  0  Lord  Christ,  who 
didst  bear  for  us  the  cross,  only  let  me  be  thy  servant 
like  these  thy  martyrs  of  old  \n 

A  new  dignity  came  into  Siward's  life  from  that  night 
— the  dignity  of  eternity.  For  the  bristling  armour  of 
pride,  strong  only  to  wound,  and  powerless  to  guard  from 
wounds,  he  became  clothed  with  humility.  Many  a  rude 
jest  which  would  have  pierced  him  to  the  quick,  glanced 
lightly  from  him,  as  from  one  who  treats  lightly  the  slights 
of  a  strange  country  through  which  he  is  only  passing  to 
a  home  where  he  will  be  known. 

And  Siwar^'s  humility  was  not  that  of  an  angel  who, 
having  stooped  from  heaven,  has  no  measurements  small 
enough  wherewith  to  measure  the  little  degrees  of  earth. 
It  was  the  humility  of  a  man  awakened  to  feel  not  his 
sinfulness  only,  but  his  sins  ;  who  has  discovered  in  his 
own  heart  the  sins  he  has  been  despising  in  others,  and 
from  the  depths  of  humiliation  to  which  repentance  has 
brought  him,  finds  any  step  God  leads  him  in  life  a  step 
upward. 

Thus  unconsciously  the  hearts  of  Editha  and  Siwald 
were  drawn  closer  to  each  other,  even  whilst  their  steps 
were  being  sundered  farther  and  farther. 


IT  was  the  evening  before  the  final  assault  of  the  Cru- 
saders on  Jerusalem.  Three  years  of  common  peril 
and  mutual  aid  had  taught  Bernard  de  Garenne  and  Si- 
ward  the  Saxon  to  understand  each  other.     Siward  had 


3  26  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

learned  the  true  courage  and  feeling  that  lay  under  the 
gaiety  and  lightheadedness  of  the  Norman.  Bernard 
had  discovered  the  fervour  of  affection  and  power  of 
thought  that  were  hidden  under  the  reserve  and  silence 
of  the  Saxon.  On  many  a  weary  march,  and  in  many  a 
perilous  encounter,  the  steady  persevering  courage  of  the 
one  had  blended  well  with  the  quickness  and  daring  of 
the  other.  Siward  had  grown  to  honour  the  gaiety 
which  made  light  of  privation  and  peril,  and  the  ready 
wit  which  found  a  way  out  of  many  an  ill  he  would  have 
met  simply  by  endurance.  Bernard  had  learned  to  rev- 
erence the  unobtrusive  unflinching  valour,  which  needed 
no  pomp  of  splendour  or  fame  to  feed  its  steady  fire. 
The  qualities  which,  in  the  fusion  of  centuries,  were  to 
mould  Norman  and  Saxon  into  Englishmen,  already 
proved  the  strength  of  their  alliance  in  the  deeds  of  that 
little  crusading  troop. 

It  was  Holy  Thursday,  the  14th  of  April,  1099.  All 
had  been  made  ready  for  the  assault.  Confessions  had 
been  made,  vows  had  been  renewed.  The  holy  sacra- 
ment had  been  received.  Arms  had  been  sharpened  and 
repaired  to  their  highest  point  of  efficiency,  and  now, 
except  a  few  on  guard,  the  besieging  host  lay  slumber- 
ing outside  the  walls  of  the  city.  Bernard  and  Siward 
were  on  guard.  The  strange  brilliancy  of  a  Syrian  night 
lighted  up  the  hills  around  which  should  have  been  green 
and  glowing  then  with  the  burst  of  the  Syrian  spring,  but 
were  brown  and  bare  with  the  devastations  of  the  besieg- 
ing army.  Before  them  rose  the  lofty  walls,  surmounted 
by  the  domes  and  roofs  of  the  sacred  city,  to  them  still 
mysterious  and  untrodden  ground. 

But  their  thoughts  wandered  far  away  to  the  land 
which  was  the  home  of  both.    Words  sealed  up  at  all 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN.  327 

other  times  came  naturally  to  the  lips  which  might  be 
silent  for  ever  in  death  on  the  morrow. 
■  "  Siward,"  said  the  Norman,  "  on  that  morning  of  our 
departure,  in  the  chapel  in  the  forest,  there  was  a  witness 
you  knew  not  of.  If  you  should  be  among  to-morrow's 
slain,  I  swear  upon  this  relic  of  the  holy  cross,  your  wid- 
owed bride  shall  be  a  charge  as  sacred  as  my  own  sis- 
ter ;  and  if  I  should  fall,  I  have  my  father's  promise  that 
the  lands  of  old  Aldred,  her  father,  shall  be  yours.  And 
rn  after  years,  you  can  tell  your  bride  that  the  thought 
of  her,  and  of  some  words  she  once  spoke  to  me,  have 
been  like  sacred  relics  in  my  heart,  guarding  me  in  many 
an  hour  of  temptation.  I  ventured  once,"  he  added 
after  a  pause,  "  to  speak  lightly  of  her  betrothal  to  you, 
and  to  urge  her  to  transfer  her  affection  to  one  who 
could  offer  her  a  home  worthier  of  her.  But  she  said, 
'  If  ever  you  love  truly  you  will  know  that  woe  binds 
hearts  as  weal  never  can,  that  the  heart  is  not  nourished 
with  things,  and  that,  from  God  himself  and  Christ  the 
Redeeming  Lord,  to  every  heart  in  which  his  image  is, 
love  has  a  joy  in  sacrificing  greater  infinitely  than  any 
of  the  poor  joys  of  receiving.'  Tell  her  that  her  words 
and  her  acts,  and  her  pure,  heavenly  face  as  I  saw  it  that 
morning  at  the  altar,  have  again  and  again  stripped  off 
the  disguise  from  empty  pomp  and  hollow  pleasure,  and 
raised  my  life  to  another  level  altogether  ;  and  that  if  I 
die  here,  at  the  Sepulchre  of  the  Lord,  it  will  not  be  with- 
out having  learned  something  of  the  love  of  Him  who 
sacrificed  himself  for  us,  and  something  of  the  joy  of  sac- 
rificing self  for  him." 

"  She  never  told  me  of  this !"  said  Siward. 

That  night  they  said  no  more   to   each  other.     Be- 
fore long  the  guard  was  changed,  and  Siward  and  Ber- 


328  THE  EARLY  DAWK 

nard  did  not  meet  again  until  the  assault  began  on  the 
morrow. 

The  night  of  Good  Friday  closed  over  Jerusalem. 
The  crusading  assault  had  succeeded.  The  banner  of 
the  cross  floated  over  the  battlements.  Where  once  the 
rude  cross  of  wood  had  risen  outside  the  silent  city  and 
above  the  sepulchre  not  yet  empty,  but  enshrining  the 
body  of  the  Redeemer,  the  red-cross  banners  waved  over 
a  city  not  silent,  indeed,  but  echoing  with  the  moans  and 
cries  of  men  and  women  in  their  death-agony.  Of  all 
the  horrors  witnessed  on  those  hills,  of  all  the  despairing 
anguish  echoed  by  those  rocky  valleys,  probably  none 
were  surpassed  by  the  events  of  that  day.  Jerusalem 
that  night  was  one  huge  sepulchre.  Of  seventy  thou- 
sand Mohammedans  who  had  possessed  the  city  before 
the  assault,  it  is  said  not  enough  were  left  after  it  to 
bury  the  dead. 

Siward  and  Bernard  were  separated  in  the  assault.  It 
was  not  until  dusk,  when  the  fight  was  over,  and  while 
the  slaughter  was  proceeding,  that  Siward  succeeded  in 
finding  his  chief.  Where  the  slain  were  piled  thick  at 
an  angle  of  the  wall,  Siward  first  recognized  the  corpse 
of  the  young  knight  Walter,  Marguerite's  betrothed,  the 
hands  clenched,  and  the  white  face  turned  up  to  the  sky. 
Then  a  low  moan  guided  him  to  Bernard,  and  leaning 
down  towards  him,  he  caught  the  words, — 

"  0  God,  let  me  die  somewhere  out  of  hearing  of  those 
shrieks  of  agony." 

Gently,  Siward,  and  a  Saxon  bowman  who  accom- 
panied him,  raised  their  wounded  lord,  and  carried  him 
to  a  house  which  had  been  built  of  old  for  pilgrims, 
where  they  found  a  quiet,  empty  room  in  which  to  place 
him. 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN.  329 

There  Siward  watched  him  night  and  day  until  the 
fever  of  his  wounds  began  to  give  place  to  the  conscious 
weakness  of  recovery.  And  very  close  was  the  attach- 
ment which  thus  grew  between  them. 

"  The  capture  of  the  Holy  City  has  been  no  festival  to 
thee  !"  said  Bernard  one  day,  as  the  Saxon  brought  him 
some  savoury  soldier's  mess  he  had  prepared  with  his 
own  hands. 

"  A  more  Christian  festival  to  me  than  to  most,"  was 
the  grim  reply.  "  I  know  not  with  what  heart  men  can 
plead  for  mercy  at  the  very  Calvary  of  the  patient  suf- 
fering Lord,  whose  ears  were  deaf  to  the  cries  for  mercy 
of  tortured  women  and  children." 

"  But  they  were  infidels  ;  they  would  have  crucified  the 
Lord  himself!"  said  Bernard. 

"  I  know  not,"  was  the  answer.  "  Mohammedan  little 
children  are  so  like  others.  Their  little  wailing,  piteous 
voices  ring  in  my  ears  still." 

"  But  they  were  unbaptized,"  said  Bernard. 

"  So,  for  aught  I  know,  were  the  babes  who  sang  the 
hosannas,"  replied  Siward ;  "  and  yet  the  Lord  would 
not  have  their  little  lisping  songs  silenced." 

"  Is  Godfrey  of  Bouillon  crowned  King  of  Jerusalem 
yet?" 

"  Nay,"  replied  Siward ;  "  they  say  he  will  not  be 
crowned  with  gold  where  Christ  the  Lord  was  crowned 
with  thorns." 

"  He  is  a  brave  and  Christian  knight,"  said  Bernard. 

A  few  days  afterward,  Siward  supported  Bernard's 
still  tottering  steps  to  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 
The  wreck  and  bloodshed  of  the  terrible  Good  Friday 
had  still  left  traces  within  the  walls  ;  but  once  more  sil- 
ver lamps  were  burning  before  the  Tomb  and  the  Hill 


330  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

which  have  been  the  shrine  of  so  many  centuries  ;  and 
the  perfume  of  the  incense  filled  every  recess  of  that  ir- 
regular building,  with  its  many  sanctuaries. 

Bernard,  keenly  sensitive  to  external  impressions  and 
associations,  was  absorbed  in  devotion.  Reverently  he 
knelt  at  every  shrine,  kissing  the  stones  which  covered 
the  sacred  earth. 

When  they  reached  their  home  again,  he  said  fer- 
vently,— 

"  It  is  worth  while  to  have  encountered  perils  and  pri- 
vations tenfold  what  we  have  endured,  to  have  seen  and 
felt  what  I  have  felt  to-day  !" 

Siward  was  silent. 

"It  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  experienced  the 
overpowering  emotion  of  that  sacred  place?"  Bernard 
added,  looking  to  his  friend  for  a  response. 

"  I  am  appalled  at  my  own  coldness,"  said  Siward  at 
length,  abruptly.  "  I  have  felt  nearer  God,  and  more  full 
of  adoring  gratitude  to  our  Lord,  at  almost  every  church 
I  have  worshipped  in,  than  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  the 
sanctuary  of  sanctuaries.  Between  me  and  the  face  once 
crowned  with  thorns  there,  and  bowed  in  death  for  us, 
intrude  perpetually  the  crowd  of  agonized,  imploring  hu- 
man faces  I  saw  there  after  the  assault.  The  unheeded 
cries  of  those  helpless  sufferers  drown  to  my  ears  the 
echo  of  that  voice  of  supremest  agony  and  tenderest  pity. 
I  long,"  he  concluded,  bitterly,  "  to  be  out  of  Jerusalem 
again,  that  there  may  be  silence  enough  in  my  memory 
for  me  to  hear  once  more  the  voice  of  the  Redeemer." 

Bernard  sighed. 

"  My  wounds  must  have  saved  me  much,"  he  said. 
"  But  I  also  long  to  return.  I  would  not  that  Marguerite 
should  hear  of  her  bereavement  from  any  one  but  me. 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN  3  3 1 

Poor  little  tender  sister,  full  to  this  day,  doubtless,  of 
her  happy  dreams !" 

The  next  Sunday,  Siward  took  Bernard  to  one  of  the 
lonely  heights  of  the  Mount  of  Olives. 

There,  under  the  shade  of  an  old  olive  which  had  sur- 
vived the  siege,  they  looked  across  the  Kidron  valley  to 
the  city — the  towers  of  Sion  rising  behind  the  sloping 
platform  of  Moriah.  The  sunset,  which  beamed  back 
from  the  west  on  the  eastern  hills  of  Moab,  touched 
dome,  and  minaret,  and  all  the  dreary  ruins  of  the  shat- 
tered walls  with  beauty,  and  lighted  up  here  and  there 
the  white  and  crimson  banners  of  the  cross,  waving  from 
tower  and  battlement. 

"  This  is  my  sacred  place,"  said  Siward,  softly.  "  Just 
below,  among  the  olives,  is  the  Garden  of  Gethsemane. 
We  are  standing  on  the  foot-path  to  Bethany.  From  the 
height  above  us,  where  the  church  stands  (then  bare  and 
lonely),  the  Lord  ascended.  Such  a  cloud  as  that  we  see 
floating  on  the  golden  sea  where  the  sun  has  set,  hid  Him 
from  the  apostles'  sight.  .  Hidden  from  our  sight  still, 
bu'  no  more  lost  than  the  sun  which  has  sunk  below  these 
western  hills,  He  is  there  in  heaven  now,  looking  down 
on  us,  on  his  own  empty  sepulchre,  on  these  sepulchral 
valleys  heavy  with  countless  dead  ;  and  looking  down  on 
England,  on  suffering  Saxon  England !  In  that  crime- 
laden  city,  the  echoes  of  despairing  human  voices  seem 
to  me  to  drown  all  heavenly  music.  But  here  upon  these 
lonely  hills,  where  His  feet  have  trod,  I  seem  to  see  the 
stain  of  that  atoning  blood  blotting  out  in  its  deeper  dye 
all  other  stains.  I  seem  to  hear  His  cry, '  Why  hast  thou 
forsaken  me  V — His  prayer,  '  Father,  forgive  them,  they 
know  not  what  they  do' — His  triumphant  dying  words, 
'  It  is  finished/  deep  beneath  all  the  din  and  tumult.     I 


?32  THE  EARLY  DA  WK 

can  bow  and  think, '  Thou  hast  suffered,  thou  hast  tri- 
umphed, thou  livest  V  and  wait  to  have  all  the  rest  an- 
swered when  I  see  His  face." 


VI. 


MANY  years  afterward,  Bernard  brought  a  Nor- 
man bride  to  his  castle  on  the  hill ;  Siward  and 
Editha  lived  tranquilly  in  the  homestead  of  Aldred  the 
Thane  ;  and  in  the  valley  between  the  castle  and  the  farm 
was  slowly  rising,  on  the  green  meadows  by  the  river 
side,  a  Cistercian  nunnery,  of  which  Marguerite  was 
abbess. 

There  was  much  still  to  separate  the  Saxon  home  from 
the  Norman  fortress  ;  yet  there  were  sacred  recollections 
and  honoured  names  common  to  both.  The  links  of  the 
chains  which  were  to  bind  Saxon  and  Norman  into  one 
English  nation  were  being  slowly  fused — although,  mean- 
time, there  was  more  to  be  seen  of  the  forge  fires,  and 
more  to  be  heard  of  the  forge  hammers,  than  of  the 
result. 

A  middle  class  was  growing  up,  with  ancestry  nobler 
and  worthier  far,  in  their  belief,  than  that  of  the  stranger 
race  who  had  so  suddenly  seized  the  position  of  the  upper 
class.  Saxon  franklins,  whose  grandfathers  had  been 
thanes  or  ealdormen,  or  even  of  right  royal  race,  could 
not  look  with,  complacency  on  Norman  barons  whose 
fathers  had  been  penniless  adventurers,  or  mere  men-at- 
arms  in  the  Conqueror's  army.  To  the  Normans,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  noblest  Saxon  names  were  such  a  jest  as 
Pilate  would  have  made  of  the  royal  title  of  Israel.  As 
yet,  the  fall  and  the  defeat,  the  wrong  and  the  plunder, 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN.  3  3  3 

were  too  recent  for  any  one  to  perceive  the  advantage  to 
the  nation  of  a  middle  class,  whose  origin  was  as  high  as 
that  of  the  aristocracy,  and  whose  history  was  far  nobler. 

Thus,  as  yet,  everything  was  seen  under  two  aspects 
throughout  the  land.  To  the  Norman,  the  massive  and 
elaborate  churches,  rising  everywhere  on  the  sites  of  the 
old  abbeys,  were  a  boon  to  England,  enough  to  compen- 
sate for  countless  ruins ;  to  the  Saxon,  they  were  the 
vain  attempts  of  old  age  to  atone  for  the  devastations 
and  crimes  of  youth.  The  old  unadorned  shrines  of  dis- 
honoured Saxon  saints  were  more  sacred  in  their  eyes 
than  the  most  magnificent  Norman  piles. 

The  church  was  the  great  place  of  meeting  for  the  two 
races  ;  and  yet  the  church  itself  was  not  precisely  the 
same  to  the  conquered  and  the  conqueror.  While  the 
Norman  abbot  entertained  noble  guests  with  princely 
hospitality  in  the  refectory,  and  won  their  admiration  for 
the  lofty  arches  and  rich  carving  of  the  new  church, 
which  he  had  summoned  foreign  architects  to  design,  the 
Saxon  monks  jealously  guarded  the  relics  of  the  Saxon 
saint,  whose  memory  had  originally  consecrated  the  place, 
and  kept  alive  in  the  hearts  of  farmer  and  peasant  the 
good  deeds  of  better  times. 

Religion  was  the  great  bond  of  union  between  the  pos- 
sessor and  the  dispossessed  ;  and  yet  religion  itself  took 
a  varied  colouring  from  their  various  circumstances  and 
national  tendencies. 

The  words  of  Wclfstan,  Saxon  Bishop  of  Worcester, 
who  died  in  1050,  were  no  doubt  echoed  in  many  a  Saxon 
heart.  On  the  very  day  that  he  began  to  rebuild  his 
cathedral  at  Worcester,  he  was  observed  by  one  of  his 
monks  standing  mournful  and  silent  in  the  church-yard. 
The  monk  endeavoured  to  console  him  by  comparing  the 


334 


THE  EARLY  DAWN. 


beauty  of  the  buildings  of  those  days  with  the  simple 
erections  of  old  Saxon  times.  "  I  judge  otherwise,"  said 
the  bishop.  "  We  pull  down  the  labours  of  holy  men  to 
glorify  ourselves.  The  good  old  time  was  when  men 
knew  not  how  to  build  magnificent  piles,  but  thought  any 
roof  good  enough  if  they  could  offer  themselves  a  willing 
sacrifice  to  God.  It  is  a  miserable  change  if  we  neglect 
the  souls  of  men  to  pile  stones  together."  These  words 
have  doubtless  been  recorded  as  the  utterance  of  many 
a  silent  conviction  ;  and  in  them  lay  the  germ  of  the 
Puritanism  which  in  after  days  took  such  deep  root 
among  the  Saxon  people  of  England. 

Once  more  the  heavy  bolts  were  drawn  within  the 
doors  of  the  old  homestead  of  Aldred  the  Thane.  A 
motley  group  was  gathered  around  the  fire.  The  younger 
children  were  asleep  ;  the  eldest  boy,  Wilfrid,  sat  mend- 
ing his  Saxon  bow  beside  his  mother  Editha,  and  his 
sister,  who  were  carding  wool.  The  warm  corner  by  the 
hearth,  where  the  blind  old  thane  had  been  used  to  sit, 
was  occupied  by  Father  Osyth,  now  a  feeble  and  white- 
haired  old  man.  The  rest  of  the  party  were  Siward,  his 
cousin  Frithric  the  forester,  and  a  pale  young  man, 
scarcely  more  than  a  lad,  with  a  frank  and  gentle  ex- 
pression. 

The  boy  Wilfrid  was  listening  breathlessly  as  Frithric 
told  the  history  of  their  latest  adventures  ;  how  he  had 
come  forth  at  dawn  from  the  forest  with  his  men,  and 
scattered  a  party  of  the  sheriff's  men,  who  were  leading 
off  the  pale  stranger  to  cut  off  his  right  hand  in  the 
market-place,  as  a  punishment  for  stealing  the  king's 
deer. 

"  That  same  right  hand  shall  despatch  many  a  royal 
stag  yet !"  he  concluded,  laying  his  hand  on  the  lad's 


SAXON  AND  NOJRMAN 


335 


shoulder.  "  That  is  the  way  the  Normans  recruit  for  the 
bold  foresters.  Thou  shalt  lead  a  merry  life  yet  among 
us,  my  son." 

But  the  young  man  did  not  seem  exhilerated  with  the 
prospect. 

"  They  will  do  my  mother  some  mischief  yet  for  this !" 
he  said.  "  She  is  a  widow,  and  is  alone  in  her  farm,  and 
has  none  but  me  to  care  for  her.  I  would  my  right  hand 
had  been  cut  off  before  it  shot  the  king's  deer." 

Editha  looked  up  compassionately. 

"  Where  was  thy  mother's  farm  ?"  she  said. 

"  On  the  meadows  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,"  he 


Editha  was  silent ;  but  the  boy  Wilfrid  exclaimed, — 

"  Mother,  that  was  where  we  saw  the  flames  last  night. 
They  must  have  burned  the  house  down  already. 

"  Hush,  Wilfrid,"  said  Editha  ;  "  we  cannot  tell.  There 
is  more  than  one  house  on  the  meadows." 

"  But,  mother,"  said  the  girl  Alice,  "  a  poor  woman  was 
brought  this  morning  into  the  convent  while  I  was  at 
school,  and  they  said  her  house  had  been  burned  because 
her  son  had  killed  the  king's  deer.  And  the  poor  woman 
was  ill  witli  fright ;  but  the  Lady  Marguerite  spoke  very 
kindly  to  her,  and  said  she  would  nurse  her  herself." 

The  lad's  composure  gave  way. 

"  I  shall  never  see  my  mother  again,"  he  said  ;  "  and 
the  poor  cattle  that  knew  my  voice,  and  my  father's 
horse  that  would  follow  me  like  a  dog — poor  beasts, 
they  must  all  be  dead ! — for  no  one  but  me  could  have 
got  them  out  of  the  fire." 

"Thou  shalt  have  thy  vengeance  yet!"  said  the  for- 
ester. "  The  Norman  lips  that  had  their  jest,  no  doubt, 
at  the  agonies  of  the  poor  dying  brutes  and  at  the  ter- 


336  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

rors  of  thy  mother,  shall  be  set  to  another  tune  before 
long.  There  are  men  in  England  yet  who  will  see  justice 
done,  in  spite  of  baron  and  sheriff,  according  to  the  good 
old  Saxon  laws.  And  there  is  another  home  for  thy 
mother  yet  than  the  French  lady's  convent." 

"  Do  not  say  anything  against  the  Lady  Marguerite, 
Cousin  Frithric,"  said  Alice,  colouring.  "She  is  my  god- 
mother, and  she  is  good  to  all  alike." 

"  I  say  no  evil  of  her,  child,"  said  Frithric.  "  It  is  not 
her  fault  if  she  is  a  Frenchwoman;  nor  yours,"  he  added, 
with  some  bitterness,  "  if  you  are  her  godchild." 

Editha  felt  the  sting  of  the  words,  but  answered  gently — 

"  Thou  knowest,  kinsman,  what  ties  bind  me  to  that 
poor  lady,  and  how  sorely  she  has  been  smitten.  How 
could  I  refuse  any  comfort  I  could  give  to  a  heart  which 
sorrow  has  made  tender  to  all  and  bitter  to  none?  I  would 
sorrow  did  as  much  for  all  as  for  her  ?" 

"  Sorrows  are  different,"  said  Frithric  ;  "  some  soften 
and  some  harden." 

"  And  characters  are  different,"  rejoined  Editha  ;  "  the 
fire  which  melts  ice  hardens  iron." 

"  And  water  and  steel  both  are  needed  in  the  world," 
said  Siward.  "  Our  kinsman  Frithric,  I  deem,  my  wife, 
has  his  work  as  well  as  thou  hast  thine.  Go  to  the  forest, 
boy,"  he  added,  "  since  the  Norman  laws  have  outlawed 
thee.  But  let  the  thought  of  thy  widowed  mother  and 
thy  poor  dumb  beasts  make  thee  as  merciful  to  Norman 
women  as  brave  agaiust  their  men.  It  was  not  the  Nor- 
man cattle  nor  Norman  widows  who  have  done  thee 
wrong.  Thou  shalt  have  tidings  of  thy  mother  often,  I 
promise  thee." 

Far  into  the  night  the  little  party  sat.  Frithric  had 
many  a  thrilling  tale  to  tell  of  Norman  tyranny  baffled, 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN.  3  3  7 

and  Saxon  widows  and  fatherless  children  dowered  with 
ransoms  won  from  captured  Norman  knights.  And 
Father  Osyth  kindled  up,  and  told  how  the  Saxon  monks 
of  Glastonbury  had  won  the  victory  over  their  avaricious 
and  tyrannical  Norman  abbot ;  how,  after  proving  their 
monastic  obedience  by  suffering  themselves  to  be  nearly 
starved,  and  robbed  of  their  costly  library,  they  had 
risen  in  open  mutiny  against  some  new  fashionable  church 
music  the  abbot  attempted  to  introduce  from  Normandy, 
and  had  held  the  church  in  defense  of  their  Gregorian 
tones  ;  how  the  abbot  had  called  in  the  soldiery,  and  the 
arrows  from  outside  had  pierced  sacred  screen  and  sculp- 
ture, yet  the  monks  stood  firm  ;  how  at  length,  when  the 
abbot  and  the  soldiers  forced  an  entrance  into  the  church, 
the  monks  had  driven  them  out  with  such  weapons  as 
candlesticks  and  forms,  and  finally  had  compelled  the 
Conqueror  himself  to  withdraw  the  abbot  and  restore 
the  Gregorian  tones. 

"  It  is  for  law,"  Frithric  said,  "  and  not  for  lawlessness, 
the  Saxons  fight  in  forest  or  abbey — for  the  good  old 
music  and  the  good  old  Saxon  laws.  The  Normans  made 
the  fruitful  field  a  forest,  and  we  make  the  forest  a  city 
of  refuge  and  a  hall  of  justice." 

And  so  the  party  separated  for  the  night ;  and  before 
the  dawn  the  forester  and  the  widow's  son  were  away 
among  the  secret  passages  and  in  the  hidden  recesses  of 
the  Saxon  castle,  the  free  forest,  which  no  Norman  could 
safely  penetrate. 

The  next  day  Editha  went  with  her  young  daughter 
Alice  to  the  convent. 

The  Lady  Marguerite  met  her  at  the  door  of  the  in- 
firmary, and  embracing  her  as  a  sister,  led  her  in  to  see 
the  sick  widow. 
15 


338  TEE  EARLY  DAWN. 

*  Say  some  words  to  her — you  will  cheer  her  better 
than  I  can.  The  Norman  accent  makes  my  best  words, 
I  fear,  bitter  to  her." 

Editha  had  tidings  wherewith  to  console  the  widowed 
mother ;  and  a  few  whispered  words  brought  a  new  light 
into  the  poor  woman's  face. 

Afterward  she  and  Marguerite  went  together  alone  to 
prepare  some  herb  cordials,  of  which  Editha  had  learned 
the  secret  in  her  childhood. 

Marguerite's  thin,  white  face  was  very  sad  as  she  bent 
over  the  herbs ;  and  at  length  she  said,  "  Will  nothing 
ever  bridge  over  the  gulf  between  my  people  and  yours, 
Editha  ?  Or  shall  I  never  have  suffered  enough  to  find 
the  key  you  have  to  sorrowful  hearts  ?  I  have  so  little 
wisdom." 

Editha  told  her  the  secret  which  had  given  her  the 
power  to  cure  the  widow.  Then  she  said,  "  I  think  every 
kind  word  and  holy  loving  work  is  a  stone  in  the  bridge 
which  is  one  day  to  bind  my  people  to  yours.  But  it 
takes  longer  to  repair  a  cottage  than  to  ruin  a  cathedral. 
Are  there  not  links  already  between  some  of  my  people 
and  thine  ?  Did  not  I  receive  the  message  which  has 
made  my  life  glad  from  the  Archbishop  Anselm,  appointed 
by  your  Norman  king  ?" 

"  And  did  not  I  learn  all  the  good  I  know  from  thee?" 
said  Marguerite.  "  Truly,  if  true  love  between  one  Nor- 
man and  one  Saxon  can  form  one  link  in  the  chain,  thy 
heart  and  mine  have  begun  it." 

"I  have  heard,"  said  Editha,  "that,  on  the  western 
shores  of  England,  where  the  sea  beats  in  the  sand  so  as 
to  cover  and  overwhelm  wall  after  wall,  there  is  a  grass 
which  grows  in  the  sand  itself,  whose  slender  stalks  and 
roots,  silently  entwining  around  each  other,  form  a  barrier 


SAXON  AND  NORMAN  339 

which  keeps  back  the  sand  and  preserves  the  fields. 
How  hopeless  that  little  grass  plant  might  feel  its  work 
as  it  looked  up  to  the  massive  stone  wall !  and  yet  to- 
gether they  do  what  no  walls  can.  Is  not  love  like 
that?" 

"  It  seems  very  little  just  to  love  and  try  to  do  little 
kind  deeds,"  said  the  Lady  Marguerite. 

"  And  yet,"  said  Editha,  "  I  think  your  beautiful  great 
abbey  church,  with  its  lofty  arches  and  pillars,  and  your 
brother's  castle,  with  its  massive  walls  will  perish  long 
before  the  fruits  of  your  quiet  acts  of  mercy." 

That  night  it  was  debated  in  the  castle  of  Bernard  de 
Garenne  what  measures  should  be  taken  against  those 
daring  Saxon  foresters  who  had  assaulted  the  sheriff. 
Some  said  no  good  would  ever  be  done  while  one  Saxon 
homestead  was  left  to  give  shelter  to  the  outlaws,  and 
proposed  a  renewal  of  the  old  wars  of  extermination. 

But  Bernard  said, — 

"  I  owe  too  much  to  the  faithful  services  of  a  Saxon 
man,  the  owner  of  such  a  homestead,  ever  to  hunt  down 
the  Saxons  like  brutes." 

And  a  few  days  afterward,  when,  in  the  secret  councils 
of  the  outlaws  in  the  forest,  some  of  the  fiercer  spirits 
spoke  of  effectual  vengeance  oh  the  Normans,  and  made 
dark  allusions  to  the  massacre  of  the  Danes,  the  feeble 
voice  of  the  aged  widow  interposed, — 

"  The  Normans  are  Christians  after  all — not  heathens, 
like  the  old  Danes.  Whatever  you  do,  let  warning  be 
sent  to  the  Lady  Marguerite,  who  waited  on  me  with  her 
own  hands  as  if  I  had  been  a  queen." 

History  records  the  building  and  the  ruin  of  the  stone 
sea-walls,  the  irruption  of  the  sands,  and,  finally,  the 
mysterious   checking  of  the  enemy's  progress ;    but  it 


34° 


THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 


speaks  not  of  the  little  lowly  grass  which  wove  the 
barrier.  She  records  the  struggles  of  kings  and  barons, 
the  conquest, .  the  misery  of  the  conquered  ;  and,  finally, 
after  many  generations,  she  notes  that  the  name  of 
Englishman  replaces  those  of  Norman  and  Saxon.  But 
of  the  little  e very-day  human  kindnesses,  the  sympathies, 
and  services,  and  homely  charities,  slowly  linking  race 
with  race,  she  can  see  little.  The  battle-cry,  the  stormy 
debate,  reach  her  ear  through  the  ages ;  but  the  soft 
words  of  peace  and  consolation,  the  voice  of  thanks- 
giving and  of  prayer,  die  away  in  the  little  circle  for 
which  they  were  spoken.  She  sees  the  church  built  and 
levelled,  but  knows  little  of  the  worship  that  went  up 
within  its  walls  to  God.  She  sees  the  homes  reared  and 
ruined,  but  can  tell  little  of  the  joys  and  sorrows,  the 
sacrifice  and  service,  of  the  home-life  by  which  hearts 
were  trained  there  for  heaven. 

These  are  for  another  history,  to  be  read  in  a  day  to 
which  probably  much  of  our  most  pompous  secular  history 
will  be  as  idle  gossip,  and  much  of  our  church  history 
will  seem  secular — a  thing  not  of  eternity,  but  of  the 
age — from  a  volume  which  shall  be,  not  a  record  of  death 
and  destruction,  but  a  Book  of  Life. 


IX. 

A  Story  of  the  Lollards. 


IX. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS. 


CUTHJBERT'S  TALE. 


T  is  scarcely  ten  years  since  I  entered  the  order 
of  St.  Francis,  the  Friars  Minorites,  against 
all  the  prayers  of  my  kindred,  believing  surely 
in  my  inmost  heart  that  I  was  thereby  devoting 
myself,  in  the  most  entire  way  possible,  to  God  and  to 
the  good  of  my  brother  man.  And  now  I  sit  here  in  the 
prison  of  the  Grey  Friars  in  London,  on  suspicion  of 
holding  what  they  call  the  heresy  of  the  spiritual  Francis- 
cans, the  "  Everlasting  Gospel "  of  the  Abbot  Joachim, 
and  the  prophecies  of  Oliva.  Whether  they  accuse  un- 
justly or  not,  I  can  scarcely  myself  say.  It  would  be 
very  pleasant  to  believe,  as  the  "  Everlasting  Gospel " 
says,  that  this  age  is  about  soon  altogether  to  pass  away, 
and  be  succeeded  by  a  time  of  progress  and  peace — the 
age  of  the  Spirit ;  but  who  knows  ?  From  my  heart  all 
certainty  of  good  and  truth  is  utterly  gone.  Only  the 
certainty  of  wickedness  and  falsehood  remains.  The 
gloom  of  this  prison  is  nothing  compared  with  the  horror 
of  great  darkness  in  my  soul.     I  would  be  content  to 

(343) 


344 


THE  EARLY  DAWK 


bear  any  severities  those  false  Franciscans — dark  spies 
on  men's  thoughts,  well  named  Black  Friars — could  in- 
flict, to  win  back  my  early  unquestioning  faith,  to  obtain 
but  one  glimpse  of  something  on  earth  worth  living  for, 
or  in  heaven  worth  dying  for. 

But  if  the  earth  be  indeed  the  chaos  of  wickedness, 
and  lies,  and  hypocrisy  it  seems  to  me,  where  can  be  the 
reality  ?  Can  it  be  possible  that  this  world  has  been 
given  finally  over  to  the  devil  ?  Oh  for  the  sign  of  the 
Son  of  man  in  heaven,  even  though  it  were  a  sign  of  un- 
mingled  terror,  to  sweep  this  evil  earth  away,  and  pro- 
claim some  better  time  !  Oh  for  one  more  of  those  "  Woe 
unto  you,  scribes  and  Pharisees,  hypocrites  !"  spoken,  not 
with  pathetic  human  tones  on  the  hills  of  Judaea,  but  with 
divine  thunders  from  the  heavens,  shivering  for  evermore 
all  lies  and  hollow  seemings  into  nothingness ! 

Yet  who  am  I,  to  denounce  fire  from  heaven  on  hypo- 
crites— I  who,  it  may  be,  am  a  worse  hypocrite  than  any 
I  denounce  ?  For  have  I  not  proclaimed  heavenly  par- 
dons to  poor  trusting  souls,  by  the  right  of  an  authority 
which  I  know  to  be  a  fountain,  not  of  truth  and  equity, 
but  of  iniquity  and  falsehood  ? 

Oh  that  anywhere  I  knew  of  such  a  decree  of  pardon 
as  those  poor  men  and  women  received  with  grateful 
hearts  from  me ! 

Yet,  would  I  wish  to  kneel  where  they  knelt  ?  Would 
I  believe  what  they  believe,  since  it  cannot  be  true? 
Would  I,  if  I  could,  have  the  magic  veil  drawn  over  my 
eyes  again,  and  go  forth  as  these  do,  smiling,  trusting, 
with  lying  pardons  in  my  hand,  to  meet  death  and  eter- 
nity, when  I  am  sure  that  not  a  line  of  those  purchased 
absolutions  will  be  recognized  by  God  ? 

Yes,  I  am  sure.    Here  my  doubts  end,  and  my  terrible 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS. 


345 


certainties  begin.  I  am  certain  that  the  pardons  which 
are  issued  in  unlimited  numbers,  not  to  spiritual  Francis- 
cans to  bestow  on  burdened  consciences,  not  to  humble 
parish  priests  to  declare  to  those  they  know  to  be  peni- 
tent, but  to  wandering  friars  to  hawk  about  like  ballads 
to  those  who  have  a  few  pence  to  spare,  for  money  where- 
with to  furnish  luxurious  convents  and  gorgeous  churches 
for  these  same  poverty-vowed  beggars — I  am  certain 
they  will  be  of  no  avail  in  the  day  of  wrath  with  the 
Judge  of  dreadful  majesty. 

Were  there  ever  such  evil  times  as  these  ?  Peasants 
ground  down  until  their  despair  gives  them  a  brutal 
courage  for  worse  than  brutal  revenge  ;  nobles  living  in 
alternate  revelry  and  bloodshed  ;  priests  only  abstaining 
from  war  to  indulge  themselves  more  at  leisure  in  every 
sensual  indulgence  they  have  forsworn  ;  friars,  vowed  to 
poverty,  rivalling  the  priests  in  splendour  and  luxury. 
This  I  have  seen  everywhere  in  Germany,  France,  and 
Lombardy.  How  different  this,  to  the  hopes  with  which 
I  entered  the  order  ! 

I  had  read  in  my  childhood  a  life  of  St.  Francis,  how 
he  forsook  father,  and  home,  and  fortune,  to  follow 
Christ — not  seeking  merely  to  obtain  a  solitary  crown 
of  sanctity  for  himself  by  self-mortification  in  the  desert, 
but  devoting  himself  to  the  poor,  the  outcast,  the  lepers  ; 
converting  publicans  and  sinners  into  saints  by  his  loving 
example,  and  startling  false  saints  into  true  penitence  by 
the  vision  in  him  of  the  reality  they  simulated.  Most 
heavenly  and  beautiful  the  life  seemed  to  me,  and  most 
Christ-like.  At'first  scorned  and  buffeted  alike  by  saint 
and  sinner,  at  last  he  was  reverenced  alike  by  all.  Eden 
seemed  to  spring  up  around  his  child- like  heart ;  the  very 
beasts  and  birds  (it  was  said)  owned  his  gentle  sway,  as 
15* 


346  TEE  EAML T  DA  WN. 

when  they  came  to  innocent  Adam  in  the  garden  and  he 
gave  them  names.  But  none  of  these  things  were  his 
reward.  The  wealth  of  the  wealthiest  would  willingly 
have  been  thrown  at  his  feet,  who  had  renounced  all  for 
Christ ;  but  this  was  not  his  reward.  Fame,  gold, 
homage,  were  absolutely  worthless  to  him  whose  heart 
had  become  like  that  of  a  little  child.  They  gave  him 
no  joy.  Poverty  was  his  bride  ;  all  created  things — riv- 
ers and  streams,  clouds  and  storms,  fire  and  cold,  forest 
trees  and  the  wild  creatures  that  found  shelter  among 
them — were  his  brothers  and  sisters,  creatures  of  his 
Father,  sure  to  minister  to  him  all  that  his  Father  knew 
him  to  need.  Not  from  gold-filled  coffers  he  drew  his 
maintenance — exhaustible  when  fullest,  and  at  best  mere 
lifeless  stores — but  from  that  open,  ever-full  hand  of  God, 
whose  touch  in  giving  made  the  smallest  gift  bliss  un- 
speakable. Then  there  were  mysterious,  wondrous 
stories,  about  the  likeness  to  our  Lord,  so  matured  in  his 
heart,  being  outwardly  stamped  on  his  emaciated  frame — 
of  the  prints  of  the  nails  being  indented  in  his  thin 
hands.    - 

Poverty  had  been  his  chosen  bride.  At  length  Death 
was  his  sister ;  all  terror  vanished  from  her  face,  she 
gently  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  into  the  pres- 
ence of  the  Father.  On  earth  there  was  the  weeping  of 
the  wretched  he  had  succoured,  and  left  orphaned  again. 
In  heaven  there  were  the  singing  and  the  welcomes  of 
the  happy  saints  who  through  him  had  been  lifted  from 
the  lazar-house  to  the  golden  streets. 

Nor  had  St.  Francis  scaled  these  heights  as  a  daring 
and  inimitable  adventurer,  to  plant  a  trophy  on  some  in- 
accessible summit,  for  other  men  to  gaze  at  from  below 
and  wonder.     Close  in  his  footsteps  followed  a  few  de- 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  347 

voted  men  ;  and  in  a  short  time  the  few  grew  to  an  army, 
swarming  eastward,  westward,  northward,  and  south- 
ward— not  like  the  Crusaders,  streaming  to  one  point, 
but  seeking  everywhere  strongholds  of  Satan  to  storm 
and  enemies  to  conquer,  in  Barbary,  in  the  East,  in  the 
forests  by  the  Rhine,  on  the  heights  of  the  Apennines,  on 
the  French  and  Lombard  plains,  and  here  in  this  Eng- 
land. 

On  the  Cornhill  in  the  city  of  London  was  still  pointed 
out  to  me  the  site  where,  little  more  than  a  century 
before,  the  first  Franciscans  had  built  their  little  huts, 
stuffing  the  crevices  with  hay  and  straw  to  keep  out  the 
unwonted  damp  of  our  climate.  There  in  these  huts  they 
had  been  heard  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night  chant- 
ing their  joyful  hymns  or  pathetic  litanies,  and  had  been 
seen  issuing  forth  to  the  lazar-houses  and  the  haunts  of 
lowest  poverty — embracing  the  lowest  as  their  brethren, 
dressing  the  wounds  of  the  diseased,  sharing  their  crusts 
with  the  meanest,  and  winning  them  to  the  loving  Saviour 
by  the  force  of  love.  When  the  authorities  threatened 
to  hang  them  as  vagabonds,  they  offered  their  own  rope- 
girdles  as  halters,  and  the  death  which  had  no  terrors 
for  them  was^  thus  through  wonder  or  contempt  averted 
from  them.  When  the  jealous  stationary  monks,  from 
their  well-stocked  tables,  sent  them  broken  scraps  and 
sour  beer,  they  were  heard  making  merry  over  the  churl- 
ish fare  as  children  at  a  feast.  And  then  their  sermons  ! 
Men  and  women,  who  had  crept  in  twos  and  threes  to 
church,  to  listen  sleepily  to  the  four  annual  homilies  of 
the  priests,  in  the  same  style  and  on  the  same  themes, 
crowded  in  thousands  to  the  open-air  sermons  of  the 
friars.  They  wept  to  hear  of  their  sins  and  their  peril, 
and  they  repented.     They  wept  to.  hear  of  tfee  love  of 


348  THE  EARL T  DA  WN. 

Christ.  They  brought  their  most  precious  things  as  wil- 
ling offerings  to  those  who  had  brought  them  blessings 
more  precious  far. 

It  is  true  I  had  not  myself  seen  exactly  such  men  nor 
heard  such  words ;  but  the  order  existed,  the  rule  con- 
tinued, and  somewhere,  I  thought,  I  was  sure  to  find  such 
men,  and  in  some  way  to  become  such  myself. 

Bitter,  bitter  years !  as  slowly  one  by  one  the  veils  fell 
from  my  eyes,  and  I  learned  that  the  old  framework  in- 
deed endured,  but  the  life  was  gone ! 

I  only  learned  this  slowly ;  because  I  always  hoped 
to  find  my  paradise  of  simple  and  devoted  hearts  some- 
where beyond,  and  yet  beyond. 

In  the  world  I  had  expected  to  find  hollowness  and 
wickedness.  It  did  not,  therefore,  surprise  me  to  see  in 
Germany,  France  and  Lorabardy,  what  I  had  seen  in 
England — the  powerful  tyrannizing  over  the  weak  ;  the 
weak  revenging  themselves  on  the  weaker  still ;  prince, 
noble,  burgher,  peasant,  all  striving  to  climb  to  those 
above,  to  press  down  those  below  j  and  those  who  were 
lowest  of  all  enduring  like  brutes,  until  the  time  came 
when  they  could  take  a  brute's  revenge.  Petty  wars  of 
nobles  with  each  other  and  with  the  cities  ;  fierce  insur- 
rections of  maddened  peasants,  springing  from  despair, 
and  crushed  by  atrocious  punishment  into  despair  again 
r-r-these  things  did  not  surprise  me,  though  they  made 
my  heart  ache.  This  was  the  world — the  world  which 
the  earlier  monks  had  sought  to  flee,  and  St,  Francis  to 
save. 

Nor  did  the  secularity  of  the  secular  clergy  mucji 
amaze  me.  From  my  childhood  I  had  heard  enough  of 
that. 

The  bitter  disappointment  was,  to  find  that  everywhere 


A  STOUT  OF  THE  LOLLARDS 


349 


among  the  followers  of  St.  Francis  himself  the  endeav- 
our to  follow  him  truly  was  looked  on  as  a  folly,  if  not 
as  a  heresy. 

The  nearer  I  approached  the  centre  of  light,  the  greater 
appeared  the  confusion  and  failure.  To  us  in  England 
the  Pope's  court  may  still  seem  a  holy  tribunal,  where 
appeal  can  be  made  from  the  injustice  of  man  to  the  jus- 
tice of  God  ;  in  Avignon,  where  the  Pope  lived,  the 
Papal  decisions  are  said  to  be  determined  by  nothing 
save  money  or  fear.  Avignon  itself  was  a  place  none 
could  stay  in  with  safety. 

Italy,  when  I  was  there,  was  to  the  rest  of  Europe 
what  the  thick  of  the  battle  is  to  its  outskirts.  There 
the  strife  was  more  incessant,  the  crimes  more  inhuman, 
the  vengeance  more  atrocious,  than  elsewhere.  Under 
the  sacred  banner  of  the  Pope  (although  it  is  said,  not  in 
his  pay,  because  the  Pope  disliked  paying),  Sir  John 
Hawkwood  and  other  chiefs  of  the  free  companies  rav- 
aged the  country  and  sacked  the  cities. 

Rome,  after  the  brief  attempt  to  restore  the  old  free- 
dom by  Rienzi,  was  abandoned,  the  palaces  burned,  and 
the  churches  lay  open  to  the  wind  and  rain. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  horrors,  occasionally  wild 
troops  of  penitents  would  march,  wailing  and  shrieking 
litanies,  through  forest  and  city,  scourging  themselves  as 
they  went,  and  tracking  their  path  in  their  own  blood. 

In  the  south  of  France  men  could  still  remember  how 
for  the  last  century  one  horror  had  succeeded  another, 
and  how  in  fair  Languedoc  a  whole  prosperous  nation 
had  been  crushed  into  despair  by  the  crusade  against  the 
Albigenses.  I  saw  the  ruined  cities  and  the  castles 
blackened  with  fire.  Then  had  come  an  insurrection  of 
the  peasants,  burning  into  a  crusade  against  the  Jews. 


350  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

I  saw  the  pestilential  marshes  near  the  Rhone  where  at 
last  the  peasants,  entrapped  thither  by  the  idea  of  going 
into  the  Holy  Land,  perished  of  disease  by  thousands, 
until  the  remainder  were  weak  enough  to  be  massacred. 
All  this  the  Pope  might  almost  have  heard  and  seen  from 
his  gilded  palace  at  Avignon. 

Within  men's  memory,  also,  was  the  destruction  of  the 
Templars  and  of  the  lepers.  Everywhere  accusations  of 
frightful  crimes,  followed  by  atrocious  vengeance !  In 
those  wicked  times  nothing  seemed  too  monstrously 
wicked  for  men  to  believe.  The  torturing  and  burning 
of  noble  knights  and  crusaders  was  followed,  in  a  few 
years,  by  the  torturing  and  the  burning  throughout 
France  of  the  poor  outcast  lepers,  the  wretched  sufferers 
St.  Francis  sought  to  cheer  and  save. 

And  with  these  dreadful  deeds  sprang  up  all  kinds  of 
monstrous  belief.  In  Milan,  not  long  before  I  was  there, 
Wilhelmine,  a  Bohemian  lady,  calling  herself  daughter 
of  the  Queen  of  Bohemia,  had  declared  that  in  her  the 
Holy  Ghost  was  incarnate ! 

At  length,  one  day,  when  I  was  walking  in  a  mountain 
path  between  Lombardy  and  Switzerland,  a  man  joined 
me  in  a  slight  and  scanty  dress,  not  like  the  flowing  robe 
of  any  of  the  orders,  nor  yet  like  any  peasant's  rags.  Its 
poverty  seemed  intentional.  He  had  not  even  the  friar's 
wallet.  He  would  not  even  carry  provision  for  the  day. 
As  we  walked  on  together,  he  began  to  discourse  on  the 
wickedness  of  the  world  and  the  holiness  of  St.  Francis, 
themes  which  naturally  drew  us  together.  More  than 
once  before,  in  lonely  hermitages,  or  in  the  solitude  of 
great  cities,  I  had  met  men  who  professed  to  have  found 
the  truth  all  the  rest  of  the  world  were  vainly  searching 
for.     Some  of  these  were  peaceful  and  even  joyful  in 


A  STOUT  OF  TEE  LOLLARDS.  351 

their  aspect ;  others  were  severe  and  bitter  against  the 
age  :  but  I  had  so  often  been  warned  against  the  friends 
of  God  in  Switzerland,  the  Albigenses,  Paulicians,  Wal- 
denses,  and  other  heretics,  who  were  said  still  to  linger 
in  the  south  of  France  ;  I  had,  indeed,  seen  so  many  burnt 
with  visible  fire,  and  condemned  to  eternal  fire,  for  so 
many  heresies,  that  I  had  grown  suspicious.  It  seemed 
so  exceedingly  difficult  to  pursue  vigorously  the  way  to 
heaven  without  running  unintentionally  against  some  doc- 
trine of  the  Church,  that  of  late  I  had  grown  hopeless 
and  apathetic,  striving  to  drive  away  the  heresies  which 
seemed  so  naturally  to  spring  from  thought,  by  not  think- 
ing, but  mechanically  reciting  to  myself  litanies  and 
psalms,  at  once  to  silence  my  own  wandering  thoughts 
and  the  wail  of  anguish,  the  tumults  and  blasphemies  of 
the  world. 

But  this  stranger  was  so  simple  and  orthodox  in  his 
discourse,  and  withal  so  devoted  a  Franciscan,  that  my 
suspicions  were  lulled  ;  and  in  the  evening,  when  he  drew 
from  his  bosom  a  roll  containing  the  Everlasting  Gospel 
of  the  Abbot  Joachim,  I  listened  in  a  trance  of  delight. 
It  seemed  to  me  as  if  this  might  explain  all.  The  true 
age  of  the  Gospel,  it  is  said,  was  not  over — it  was  to 
come.  There  had  been  the  age  of  the  Father,  the  age  of 
the  law.  The  second  age,  the  age  of  the  Son,  was  rap- 
idly, amidst  convulsions  and  storms,  drawing  to  its  close. 
St.  Francis,  conformed  in  all  things  to  Christ  himself, 
came  to  usher  in  the  true  age  of  blessing,  the  third  age — 
the  age  of  the  Spirit.  The  disorders,  and  miseries,  and 
crimes  around  us  were  not  to  be  wondered  at ;  they  were 
quite  natural — they  were  the  death  agony  of  the  old, 
the  birth-agony  of  the  new.  We  were  living  on  the 
verge  of  the  dawn  of  the  days  of  peace,  and  holiness,  and 


352  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

love,  of  freedom,  brotherhood,  and  community  of  all 
things. 

I  listened,  hoped,  longed  to  believe — I  thought  I  did 
believe — that  I  had  found  the  lost  truth,  the  hidden 
treasure.  For  joy  of  it  I  told  it  to  all  who  would  listen. 
I  came  home  to  my  country  to  tell  it  to  those  I  had 
known  and  loved  of  old  ;  and  therefore  am  I  here  in  this 
prison  of  the  Minorites  in  London,  on  suspicion  of  heresy. 

But,  alas !  here  my  Gospel  seems  to  fail  me.  On  what 
are  its  promises  founded  ?  Who  can  assure  me  the  voice 
that  spoke  them  is  divine — that  they  are  not  merely  the 
echo  of  our  cries  for  light — not  an  answer,  but  an  echo  ? 
The  heart  wailing,  "All  things  here,  how  bitter  and 
false !" — the  seeming  prophecy  responding,  "  Bitter  and 
false."  The  heart  crying  out,  "  Who  will  bring  the 
day  ?" — the  false  Gospel  replying,  "  I  bring  the  day !  the 
day!" 

And  if  this  be  indeed  a  heresy,  then  am  I  not  worse, 
more  despicable,  more  criminal,  more  pitiable,  than  the 
most  luxurious  priest  at  the  Papal  court,  the  meanest 
purchaser  of  pardons,  the  most  covetous  seller  of  pardons, 
the  worst  leper,  the  vilest  sinner  who  has  kept  pure  in 
his  poor  distracted  heart  the  holy  faith  I  have  lost  ? 

The  "  nays  "  seem  indeed  to  me  plain  enough !  Wil- 
liam of  Ockham,  defender  of  the  spiritual  Franciscans 
and  glory  of  our  order,  seems  to  me  to  have  proved 
plainly  enough  that  the  Popes  are  not  infallible.  My 
own  eyes  have  seen  that  neither  Rome  nor  Avignon  is 
the  heavenly  Jerusalem.  The  Everlasting  Gospel  states 
that  the  outward  corrupt  Church  is  Babylon,  the  very 
antithesis  to  truth  and  holiness.  Oh  for  three  or  four 
plain  "  yeas  and  amens,"  such  as  they  say  our  Lord  spoke 
on  earth ! — for  but  one  I 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  353 

So  far  I  wrote  yesterday,  life  seeming  to  lie  like  a 
chaos  behind  me,  and  the  future  like  an  unfathomable 
abyss  before  me.  And  this  morning  once  more  hope 
seems  to  dawn  for  me. 

In  the  night  I  had  a  dream  of  my  home  in  the  days 
gone  by,  of  my  father  and  my  mother  walking  out  with 
us  beyond  the  city  in  St.  Giles'  Fields  on  Easter  Day  ; 
the  river  winding  round  the  meadows  to  the  great  Abbey 
at  Westminster  ;  the  meadows  green  with  the  first  green 
of  spring,  and  full  of  buttercups ;  the  woods  on  the 
northern  hills  just  softening  into  tender,  delicate  col- 
ours ;  my  little  sister  Cicely  yielding  to  my  mother's 
care  the  precious  posy  of  buttercups  her  little  hands 
were  too  small  to  hold ;  my  father  telling  me  of  his 
achievements  with  bow  and  arrow  as  we  watched  the 
apprentices  shooting  at  the  targets  ;  my  mother  taking  a 
silver  penny  from  her  purse  to  give  to  the  Grey  friar, 
and  crossing  herself  reverently  at  his  benedicite  ;  I  with 
the  life  of  St.  Francis  in  my  heart,  thinking  how  he  would 
spend  that  alms  in  purchasing  comforts  for  the  sick  and 
outcast. 

I  awoke  with  a  great  longing  in  my  heart  to  see  my 
home  once  more  ;  and  as  I  woke  I  heard  a  woman's  voice 
in  the  still  morning  singing  a  low  sweet  chant.  The 
sound  awoke  me.  The  singer  must  be  a  sister  in  the 
Franciscan  convent  of  the  Poor  Glares,  which  was  not 
far  from  my  prison.  I  rose  and  listened.  It  was  a  new 
hymn  I  had  heard  in  Italy,  said  to  be  composed  quite 
lately  by  Jacopone  de'  Todi,  who,  on  the  sudden  death 
of  his  good  and  beautiful  wife,  had  suddenly  renounced 
the  world,  and  joined  our  order  in  its  strictest  rule.  A 
wondeiful  hymn  it  was,  moving  men's  hearts  like  thunder 
wherever  it  was  heard — like  thunder  with  a  human  voice 


354  THE  EABLT  DA  WK 

in  it.     Solemnly  now  again  the  words  fell  on  my  heart. 
It  wa»  the  Dies  Iras : 

"  Tuba  jnirum  spargens  donum, 
Per  sepulchra  regionum, 
Coget  omnes  ante  thronum. 

Judex  ergo  quum  sedebit, 
Quidquid  latet  apparebit, 
Nil  inultum  remanebit. 

Quid  sura  miser  tunc  dicturus, 
Quern  patronum  rogaturus, 
Cum  vix  Justus  sit  securus. 

Rex  tremendae  majestatis, 
Qui  salvahdos  salvas  gratis, 
Salva  me  fons  pietates. 

Recordare  Jesu  pie, 
Quod  sum  causa  tuae  viae, 
Ne  me  perdas  ilia  die ! 

Quaerens  me,  sedisti  lassus, 
Redemisti  crucem  passus, 
Tantus  labor  not  sit  cassus. 

Qui  Mariam  absolvisti, 
Et  latronem  exaudisti, 
Mihi  quoque  spem  dedisti." 

Then  the  voice  broke  off,  and  the  convent-bell  sounded 
for  matins.  The  words  mingle  strangely  with  the  recol- 
lections of  childhood  brought  by  my  dream.  They  are 
not,  indeed,  an  amen  from  heaven,  but  they  bring  to  my 
heart  a  hope,  a  tenderness  in  which  its  bitterness  seems  to 
dissolve  away — a  dim  trust  that  underneath  the  tumult, 
and  the  heresies,  and  the  confusion,  there  may  be  a  tide 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  355 

of  love  and  pity,  and  piety  yet  flowing  in  the  world  ;  and 
if  underneath,  then  may  I  not  be  sure  also  above  ?  With 
such  hopes  and  memories  it  seemeth  worth  while  to  live. 
And  since  in  England  there  is  no  statute  for  the  burning 
of  heretics,  nor  any  precedent  for  their  punishment,  I  may 
yet  escape. 

Father,  and  mother,  and  little  Cicely,  shall  I  ever  see 
them  again? 

Hymns  of  faith  and  hope,  shall  I  ever  indeed  sing  thenj 
again,  as  I  used  in  my  childhood  ? 


CICELY'S  TALE. 

IT  is  now  ten  years  since  my  only  brother  Cuthbert 
left  us  to  become  a  Franciscan  friar.  One  morning 
he  came  not  to  breakfast ;  and  when  they  sent  me,  then 
a  little  maid  of  eight  or  nine  years  old,  to  fetch  him,  I 
found  his  chamber  empty.  His  holiday  clothes  lay  on 
the  bed,  and  on  his  little  table  an  open  book,  with  his 
silver-mounted  dagger  and  his  silken  purse  beside  it.  I 
ran  down,  crying,  to  tell  my  father  and  mother,  not  know- 
ing what  to  fear.  My  mother  turned  pale,  and  my  father 
red.  She  spoke  not  a  word,  and  he  swore  an  angry 
oath.  He  strode  up  the  stairs  to  Cuthbert's  chamber, 
and  my  mother  followed  with  trembling  steps.  They 
looked  at  the  deserted  chamber,  and  at  last  my  mother's 
eyes  rested  on  the  open  book.  It  was  a  Life  of  St.  Fran- 
cis, and  the  open  page  was  a  picture  of  the  saint  turning 
from  his  father,  who  was  throwing  up  his  arms  as  if  in 
despair,  while  large  tears  were  dropping  from  his  eyes. 
The  saint's  eyes  were  turned  and  his  hand  pointed 
heavenward ;    and   underneath  was  written   the  text, 


3 56  THE  EAUL  T  DA  WX. 

"  Whosoever  hateth  not  his  father  and  his  mother  is  not 
worthy  of  me." 

My  mother  laid  her  finger  on  this  page,  and  broke 
into  bitter  weeping  and  wailing.  My  father  set  his  lips, 
and  spoke  never  a  word,  but  closed  the  book,  threw  it 
on  the  floor,  and  led  me  and  my  mother  out  of  the  cham- 
ber ;  then  he  locked  the  door,  and  put  the  great  key  in 
his  girdle.  From  that  day  to  this  no  one  hath  entered 
the  chamber,  nor  dare  any  mention  my  brother's  name 
before  my  father. 

Nor  from  that  day  to  this  hath  my  mother  dared  in  his 
sight  to  give  a  farthing  to  any  of  the  begging  friars,  much 
as  she  had  always  been  used  to  honour  them,  and  often 
since  as  I  have  seen  her  eyes  raised  wistfully  when  we 
met  any  of  the  bareheaded  Grey  friars,  and  dropped  with 
a  sigh  as  no  glance  of  recognition  met  her. 

In  good  sooth  this  conversion  of  my  brother  did  not 
work  good  for  religion  in  our  home,  at  least  not  at  first. 
I  do  not  think  my  father  ever  had  too  much  love  for  the 
friars.  Many  a  time  I  remember  my  mother  checking 
him  in  some  merry  tale  about  their  eating  and  drinking, 
and  their  easy  life,  looking  at  me,  and  saying  with  her 
pleading  eyes,  "  Not  before  the  child.  It  is  not  fit  she 
should  hear  such  things."  Nevertheless  he  suffered  my 
mother  still  to  go  to  her  morning  mass,  and  to  the  Bene- 
diction with  me.  He  himself  always  attended  regularly 
the  great  Church  services  with  her  on  Sundays  and  holi- 
days, and  entertained  priest  or  friar  freely  at  home. 
But  after  Cuthbert  went,  although  he  still  would  be 
present  at  the  great  services,  his  manner  was  changed, 
and  now  and  then  he  chided  my  mother  somewhat  sharply 
if  she  was  a  little  late  in  returning  with  me  from  the 
morning  mass,  and  said  he  saw  not  much  good  in  a  re- 


A  STOUT  OF  THE  LOLL  AMDS.  357 

ligion  which  took  wives  from  their  duties,  and  children 
from  their  parents  ;  and  that  he  would  not  have  his  little 
maid  brought  up  to  be  a  nun,  with  downcast  eyes  and 
whining  voice,  with  all  the  joy  dried  out  of  it. 

Thereat  my  mother  would  sometimes  gently  weep  ;  but 
she  was  a  meek  woman,  and  seldom  made  answer  again. 
But  in  secret  she  would  tell  me  that  my  father,  although 
the  best  of  men,  had  much  to  fret  him,  and  would  some- 
times speak  more  strongly  than  he  felt. 

About  this  time,  moreover,  a  thin  large  book,  in  Eng- 
lish, began  to  be  much  on  my  father's  knee  in  the  even- 
ings after  his  work  was  done.  It  was  by  Wycliffe.  I 
knew  not  its  contents  then,  but  only  knew  it  as  the  cause 
of  many  differences  between  my  father  and  my  mother  ; 
he  reading  many  passages  aloud  with  great  glee,  and 
she  seeking  some  excuse  at  such  times  to  send  me  to  my 
games.  The  book  did  not  interest  me  much,  but  the 
discussions  did ;  and  I  used  to  play  softly,  murmuring 
to  myself,  as  if  I  were  quite  busy  with  my  puppets,  but 
really  listening  to  every  word — for  which  deceit  may  I 
be  forgiven ! 

I  remember  how  one  summer  evening  my  father  sat 
near  the  window  to  catch  the  last  light,  and  tracing  the 
lines  with  his  finger  on  the  book  (for  he  was  never  a 
ready  reader),  and  chuckling  as  he  found  some  passages 
which  he  particularly  approved.  "  Listen  here,  good 
wife,"  he  said  at  length,  unable  to  keep  his  satisfaction 
any  longer  to  himself ;  "  the  good  doctor  saith,  '  The  in- 
stitution of  the  friars'  religion  is  a  foul  heresy  put  on  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  for  it  saith  that  he  lacked  wit  to 
teach  his  apostles  and  disciples  the  true  religion  ;' n  and 
then  my  father  went  on  to -say  something  about  the  book 
declaring  that  if  the  Pope  were  a  sinful  man  he  would  be 


358  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

damned  and  sent  among  the  devils,  like  any  one  else. 
But  here  my  mother's  patience  was  exhausted.  Rising 
quickly,  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  mouth  and  said,  "  Thou 
shalt  not  ruin  our  souls  and  thine  own  by  repeating  such 
blasphemies." 

And  she  took  me  from  the  room  and  put  me  hastily  to 
bed,  her  hands  trembling  all  the  time,  and  I  not  daring 
to  ask  a  question. 

Thus,  I  never  knew  the  end  of  that  debate.  But  that 
evening  my  mother  came  and  knelt  by  my  bed  when  she 
thought  I  was  asleep,  and  said,  in  whispers,  prayers  to 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  our  Blessed  Lady,  and  every 
saint  I  had  ever  heard  of,  to  keep  us  from  the  evil  one. 

And  when  I  threw  my  arms  around  her  as  she  was 
rising,  her  face  was  quite  wet  with  tears,  and  she  crossed 
my  forehead  and  said, — 

"  Didst  thou  pray  to  sweet  Cicely,  thy,  patroness,  and 
to  the  Holy  Mother  of  mercy,  and  to  the  Lord  Christ, 
and  the  Saints  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John,  to  bless 
thy  slumbers,  little  one." 

I  murmured,  "  Yes,"  for  I  would  have  been  quite  afraid 
to  sleep  without,  on  account  of  the  black  fiends  my  nurse 
had  told  us  of,  if  for  no  other  reason. 

"  Then  thou  art  in  good  keeping,  darling,"  said  she. 
"  Pray,  too,  for  thy  dear  father  and  for  me.  The  words  he 
read  were  not  thy  father's,  Cicely,"  she  said  ;  "  but  per- 
chance thou  didst  not  hear  them.  If  thou  didst,  pray  to 
God,  to  thy  patroness,  and  to  thy  guardian  angel,  to  take 
them  out  of  thy  heart  and  out  of  mine." 

I  promised  and  tried,  which  was,  perhaps,  the  reason 
that  my  perverse  memory  never  forgot  them  ;  and  that  at 
last  one  day  by  way  of  breaking  the  spell,  I  got  Cousin 
Richard   to  look   in   the  book  and   tell  me  the  rest. 


A  STOUT  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  359 

Nothing  clings  to*  the  memory  like  a  thing  half  remem- 
bered, especially  if  we  wish  to  forget  it.  The  jagged 
edges  of  the  broken  thought  seem  so  many  points  by 
which  it  holds  on. 

After  that  my  father  never  read  any  of  the  hated  book 
in  my  hearing. 

When  I  was  about  sixteen  years  old,  seven  years  after 
Cuthbert  left,  my  father  sent  for  my  cousin  Richard  to 
help  him  in  his  business  on  the  exchange. 

The  evening  before  he  was  to  come  my  father  drew  me 
to  him  and  said,  stroking  my  cheek  fondly, — 

"  Cicely,  thou  art  a  tall  maiden  now,  and  must  do  what 
thou  canst  to  make  thy  father's  house  pleasant  to  stran- 
gers. Thy  cousin  Richard  is  a  stranger  in  London,  and 
we  must  not  expect  him  to  be  like  the  gay.  young,  empty- 
headed  city  'prentices.  Pie  was  brought  up  as  I  was 
among  the  Yorkshire  hills,  and  lias  been  the  very  stay 
and  staff  of  his  widowed  mother.  With  the  good  old 
English  bow,  I  trow,  he  could  match  the  cleverest  among 
these  Londoners,  unless  the  Yorkshire  .lads  are  changed 
since  my  days.  But  if  in  speech  and  apparel  he  be  not 
so  brave  as  these  young  braggarts,  albeit  he  studied  a 
year  at  Oxenforde,  we  of  the  Goldsmiths'  Company  know 
how  to  tell  gold  from  gilding,  and  thou  wilt  receive  him 
civilly  as  thy  father's  kinsmen." 

"  In  sooth,  father,"  said  I,  "  never  before  didst  thou 
think  it  needful  to  enjoin  me  to  be  civil  to  any  guest  of 
thine.  But  it  seemeth  to  me  if  my  cousin  Richard  was 
the  staff  and  stay  of  his  mother,  I  had  liever  he  had 
stayed  with  her." 

"  Nonsense,  child,"  he  said  fondly,  but  hastily  ;  "  she 
hath  other  sons,  and  I  have  none.     What  thou  hadst 


3  60  TEE  EARL  Y  DA  WK 

liever  be  cannot  always  be  done.  -Thou  hast  had  thy 
rule  long  enough  over  the  household.  Children  may  rule 
in  fools'  houses,  but  maidens  must  serve." 

I  said  no  more  to  him,  but  the  whole  willful  heart  in  me 
was  roused  ;  and  next  morning,  when  he  had  gone  to  his 
business,  I  said  to  my  mother, — 

"Mother,  my  father  is  bringing  this  cousin  Richard 
here  to  take  Cuthbert's  place.  Wilt  thou  have  it  so  ?  I 
never  will." 

Thus  perversely  I  spoke,  until  I  saw  my  mother's  eyes 
filled  with  tears,  and  then  I  said, — 

"  I  am  in  sooth,  I  fear,  a  naughty  and  willful  maiden  ; 
but  Cuthbert  was  so  good  and  kind,  I  cannot  bear  that 
this  Yorkshire  cousin  should  be  set  in  his  place." 

"  Be  patient,  Cicely,"  said  my  mother,  gently  ;  and  she 
added,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  Hath  thy  father  opened  Cuth- 
bert's  chamber  ?  While  he  keeps  thy  brother's  chamber 
sacred  we  may  well  keep  his  place  sacred  in  the  heart. 
Yet,"  she  added, "  we  are  growing  old  daily.  Thy  father 
needeth  help,  and  ere  long,  may  be,  thou  wilt  need  other 
shelter  than  thy  father's  roof." 

"  What  other  shelter,  mother,  can  I  wish  for  ?  Ten- 
derest  of  fathers,  and  dearest  of  homes." 

"  It  will  not  last  for  ever,  Cicely." 

I  burst  into  tears  and  hid  my  face  on  her  breast. 

"  And  thou  hast  little  vocation  for  a  nun's  life,"  she 
said,  winding  one  of  my  curls  fondly  round  her  fin- 
gers. 

A  bright  thought  struck  me.  I  murmured,  "  Cousin 
Richard  is  within  the  prohibited  degrees,  so  that  if  he  is 
to  be  to  my  father  as  a  son,  he  can  never  be  more  than 
cousin  to  me." 

"  Thy  father  saith  he  is  not,"  she  replied.    "  I  know 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  361 

not.  But  receive  him  kindly,  Cicely,"  she  added,  smiling, 
"  as  if  he  were." 

Fortified  by  this  hope,  and  by  the  fear  of  really  griev- 
ing my  father,  I  did  receive  my  cousin  Richard  kindly, 
or,  at  least,  civilly,  when  he  arrived  that  evening.  And 
although  his  green  forester's  tunic  was  not  of  the  newest 
cut,  and  his  dress  was,  moreover,  sorely  soiled  by  the 
sloughs  through  which  he  had  ridden,  and  more  especially 
by  a  large  and  deep  puddle  into  which  he  had  fallen  in 
the  street  just  at  our  door  after  dismounting  from  his 
horse,  I  did  like  something  in  his  high  open  brow,  and 
the  merry  kindliness  of  his  large  gray  eyes,  albeit  he  was 
not  like  Cuthbert. 

We  became  friends,  and  might  perhaps  soon  have  be- 
come more  had  it  not  been  for  my  father's  premonitions. 
Cousin  Richard  suited  my  father  marvellously  well.  In- 
deed, he  had  a  way  of  making  himself  at  home  with  most 
people.  To  my  mother  also  he  ever  showed  a  gentle 
kindliness,  which  would  have  won  her  heart  at  once  had 
it  not  been  for  his  free  speech  on  some  subjects,  and  for 
his  evident  delight  in  the  very  same  thin  large  English 
book  which  had  been  the  subject  of  the  difference  I  have 
related. 

This  came  out  in  the  following  way. 

One  day  when  my  father  and  Richard  had  been  at  the 
shooting  in  St.  Giles'  Fields,  when  they  came  back  my 
father  said, — 

11  Richard  hath  heard  Dr.  Wycliffe  at  Oxford,  good 
wife  ;  and  he  saith,  of  all  the  clerks  and  doctors  he  has 
heard  he  is  the  wisest,  and  is  a  man  of  such  holy  life  his 
bitterest  enemies  can  say  naught  against  him." 

"  Yes,"  quoth  Richard, "  I  heard  him  speak  at  Oxenforde 
five  years  ago,  before  my  father's  death,  when  it  was 
16 


362  THE  EARL Y  DA  WN. 

thought  I  might  have  studied  as  a  scholar  or  a  man  of 
the  law ;  which,"  said  he,  somewhat  sorrowfully,  "  now 
can  never  be.  Yet  would  I  not  have  missed  those  two 
years  for  much." 

"  But  surely  this  Dr.  Wycliffe  saith  very  blasphemous 
and  perilous  things,"  said  my  mother. 

"  So  say  some  of  the  friars,  who  have  well-nigh  made 
the  university  a  waste  by  their  arts,"  he  replied,  "  tempt- 
ing lads  into  their  Orders  against  the  will  of  their 
parents." 

He  had  spoken  eagerly,  but  here  he  checked  himself, 
and  said  softly, — 

"I  mean  not  such  as  enter  their  religion  as  a  good 
work  to  serve  God,  but  merely  those  who  choose  it  as  a 
life  of  idleness  and  pride." 

"  Friars  for  love  of  idleness,  or  love  of  selfish  religious 
gain,  matters  little  to  me !"  said  my  father.  "  But  what 
said  Dr.  Wycliffe  ?" 

"  I  remember  chiefly  four  things  which  he  said,"  re- 
plied Bichard,  "  because  they  were  on  matters  which  had 
troubled  me.  He  said  that  true  religion  consists  in  faith, 
hope,  and  charity  ;  and  that  true  charity  consists  not  in 
any  outward  rule  or  alms,  but  in  loving  God  with  all  our 
heart  and  our  neighbour  as  ourselves  ;  not  our  kindred 
only,  still  less  the  monk  his  order — but  our  neighbour, 
the  creature  of  our  God.  That  love  indeed  is  holiness  ; 
and  Christ  wished  his  law  to  be  observed  willingly,  freely, 
that  in  such  obedience  men  might  find  happiness.  He 
said  also  that  there  is  much  vain  babbling  about  mortal 
and  venial  sins  ;  that  only  one  sin  is  mortal,  and  that  is 
final  impenitence,  resisting  and  sinning  against  the  Holy 
Ghost  to  the  end.  He  spoke  aVso  very  fervently  against 
men  who  '  chatter  on  the  subject  of  grace  as  though  it 


A  STOUT  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  363 

were  something  to  be  bought  and  sold  like  an  ox  or  an 
ass,  who  learn  to  make  a  merchandise  of  selling  pardons/ 
He  said  also,  the  homage  paid  to  any  saint  is  useless 
except  as  it  incites  to  the  love  of  Christ.  For  the  Scrip- 
tures assure  us  that  Christ  is  the  Mediator  between  God 
and  man  ;  and  hence,  he  said,  many  are  of  opinion  that 
when  prayer  was  directed  only  to  that  middle  Person  of 
the  Trinity  for  spiritual  help,  the  Church  was  more  flour- 
ishing and  made  greater  advances  than  now  when  many 
new  intercessors  have  been  found  out  and  introduced. 
My  mother  looked  startled,  and  said, — 
"  Who  honours  the  mother  honours  the  Son." 
"Dr.  Wycliffe  said,  moreover,"  continued  Richard, 
deep  in  the  recollection  of  the  doctor's  discourses,  "  that 
the  chief  cause  of  the  evils  in  the  Church  now  is  our 
want  of  faith  in  Holy  Scripture.  We  do  not  sincerely 
believe  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  or  we  should  abide  by 
the  authority  of  his  word,  especially  that  of  the  Evangel- 
ists, as  of  more  importance  than  any  other.  Inasmuch  as 
it  is  the  will  of  the  Holy  Spirit  that  our  attention  should 
not  be  dispersed  over  a  large  number  of  objects,  but  con- 
centrated on  one  sufficient  source  of  instruction,  it  is  His 
pleasure  that  the  books  of  the  Old  and  New  Laws  should 
be  read  and  studied  ;  and  that  men  should  not  be  taken 
up  with  other  books,  which  true  as  they  may  be,  and 
containing  even  scriptural  truth,  as  they  may  by  implica- 
tion, are  not  to  be  confided  in  without  caution  or  limita- 
tion." 

"  Hast  thou  anything  against  that,  good  wife  ?"  said  my 
father. 

"  Nay,"  she  replied,  cautiously  ;  "  doubtless  nothing 
can  be  better  worthy  of  study  for  the  scholar  than  the 
Holy  Evangelists." 


364  THE  EARLY  DA TV2VI 

Emboldened  by  this  admission,  my  father  brought  out 
his  beloved  book  against  the  friars,  which  my  cousin 
welcomed  as  an  old  friend. 

Whereupon  my  mother  rose,  and  said,  "  It  was  time  we 
women  prepared  the  supper."  And  the  next  morning, 
she  said  my  cousin  Richard  was  not  without  wit,  but  it 
was  a  pity  he  talked  Yorkshire  and  meddled  with  mat- 
ters too  high  for  simple  folk. 

"  But  it  matters  little  to  us,  Cicely,"  added  she,  "  for 
Father  Bennet  saith  he  is  surely  within  the  prohibited 
degrees." 

The  next  time  we  were  alone,  however,  I  asked  my 
cousin  Richard  to  tell  me  about  that  terrible  passage  in 
the  book,  that,  knowing  the  rest  of  it,  I  might  more  easily 
get  it  out  of  my  head.  I  knew  he  could  find  it  easily 
by  those  words  about  the  Pope. 

He  then  read  it  to  me :  "  Friars  say  their  religion, 
founded  of  sinful  men,  is  more  perfect  than  that  religion 
or  order  which  Christ  himself  made,  that  is  both  God 
and  man.  This  heresy  saith  that  Christ  lacked  wit, 
might,  or  charity  to  teach  his  apostles  and  his  disciples 
the  best  religion.  But  what  man  may  suffer  this  foul 
heresy  to  be  put  on  Jesus  Christ  ?  Christian  men  say 
that  the  religion  or  order  that  Christ  made  for  his  dis- 
ciples and  priests  is  most  perfect,  most  easy,  and  most 
sure.  Most  perfect  for  this  reason,  for  the  Founder  or 
Patron  thereof  is  perfect,  for  he  is  very  God  and  very 
man,  that  of  most  wit  and  most  charity  gave  this  religion 
to  his  dear  worth  friends.  Also  the  rule  thereof  is  most 
perfect,  since  the  Gospel  in  its  freedom,  without  error  of 
man,  is  the  rule  of  this  religion.  Also  knights  of  this 
religion  be  most  holy  and  most  perfect.  For  Jesus  Christ 
and  his  apostles  are  the  chief  knights  of  it,  and  after 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  365 

them  holy  martyrs  and  confessors.  It  is  most  easy  and 
light ;  for  Christ  himself  saith  that  '  His  yoke  is  soft, 
and  his  charge  is  light ;'  since  it  stands  all  in  love  and 
freedom  of  heart,  and  bids  nothing  but  reasonable  things, 
and  profitable  for  the  keeper  thereof." 

Then  followed  the  passage  about  the  Pope. 

"  It  is  noble  and  true,  cousin  Cicely,"  said  Richard. 
"  Thinkest  thou  not  so  ?" 

I  could  not  gainsay  him.  But  when  I  told  my  mother 
afterward  about  these  good  words,  thinking  to  comfort 
her  with  regard  to  my  father,  to  my  amazement  she  ex- 
claimed warmly  that  it  was  a  wretched  book  j  "  Father 
Bennet  said  so  ;  and,  indeed,  what  I  had  told  her  was 
enough  to  prove  it,  for  did  it  not  speak  of  Christ  the  Lord 
lacking  wit  and  charity,  and  of  the  Pope  being  damned  ?" 

In  vain  I  endeavoured  to  convince  her.  Such  methods 
of  quoting  books  were  then  strange  to  me ;  although  I 
have  heard  much  of  the  same  kind  in  religious  contro- 
versy since. 

But  my  mother  forbade  me  ever  to  touch  the  book 
again.  Wherefore  after  this,  cousin  Richard  usually  read 
to  me  at  my  spinning  in  the  poems  of  Chaucer,  which,  in 
good  sooth,  I  found  more  entertaining. 

There  were  parts  which  he  did  not  read  to  me,  and 
although  I  could  read  English,  he  said  it  was  better  I 
should  listen  than  read  for  myself. 

Therefore  we  laughed  and  cried  together  over  the 
book  day  after  day,  until  the  people  seemed  more  real  to 
me  than  our  next  door  neighbours.  "The  Prioresse 
Madame  Eglantine,  with  her  dainty  ways, 

"  Her  over  lip  wiped  so  clean, 
That  in  her  cuppe  was  no  ferthing  sene 
Of  grese,  when  she  dronken  had  her  draught ; 


366  THE  EARLY  DA WN. 

letting  no  morsel  from  her  lippes  fall,  ne  wettings  her 
fingers  in  hire  sauce  deep  f  the  service  divine  she  sang 
so  well,  "  entuned  in  her  nose  ful  swetely ;"  the  French 
"  she  spake  ful  fayre  and  fetishy,  after  the  school  of  Strat- 
ford atte  Bow,  for  French  of  Paris  was  to  her  unknown  ; 
her  eyen  gray  as  glass  ;  her  fair  broad  brow ;  her  soft 
red  lips,"  from  which  fell  the  sweet  sorrowful  tale  of  the 
martyred  child ;  her  "  statelike  manere,  digne  of  rever- 
ence j  hire  conscience  so  charitable  and  piteous,  she  wold 
wepe  if  that  she  saw  a  mous  caught  in  a  trappe,  if  it  were 
ded  or  bledde ;  the  small  hounds  that  she  fedde  with 
rosted  flesh,  and  milk,  and  wasted  brede,  weeping  sore  if 
one  of  them  were  dead,  or  if  men  smote  it  with  a  yerde 
smerte,  all  conscience  as  she  was  and  tendre  herte.  The 
monke  with  bridle  jingling  like  a  chapel  bell,  his  bald 
head  shining  like  any  glass,  and  face  as  it  hadde  been 
anoint,  who  held  the  text  not  worth  an  oyster,  that  monks 
might  not  hunt  and  be  out  of  cloister.  The  clerk  of 
Oxenforde,  on  his  horse  thin  as  a  rat,  his  face  hollow,  his 
coat  threadbare,  loving  his  twenty  books  at  his  bed's 
head  better  than  richest  robes,  or  fiddle,  or  psaltery. 
The  franklin,  with  sanguine  complexion,  and  beard  white 
as  a  daisy  (like  my  father's),  whose  table  stood  ready 
covered  in  his  hall  all  day.  The  doctor  of  physic,  clad 
in  sanguin  perse,  and  taffeta,  who  by  his  astronomy  and 
magic  natural  knew  the  cause  of  every  maladie,  were  it 
of  cold  or  heat,  or  wet  or  dry.  The  sergeaunt  of  the 
lawe,  ware  and  wise, 

"  Nowhar  so  besy  a  man  as  he  there  was, 
And  yet  he  seemed  besier  than  he  was. 

The  young  squire  with  curled  locks,  who  could  make 
songs  and  dance,  pourtraye  and  write,  and  had  borne  him 


A  STOUT  OF  TEE  L0LLAED8.  367 

well,  in  hopes  to  stand  in  his  lady's  grace.  The  yeoman 
forester,  with  his  brown  visage,  his  green  baldric  and  his 
mighty  bow.  The  merchant  with  a  forked  beard,  clad 
in  motley  with  a  Flaundrish  beaver  hat.  The  friar  who 
devoutly  heard  confession,  an  easy  man  to  give  penance  ; 
for  if  any  man  gave  to  the  begging  orders,  he  might  be 
sure  he  was  repentant : 

"  For  many  a  man  hard  is  of  his  herte, 
He  may  not  wepe  although  him  sore  smerte ; 
Therefore  in  stede  of  weping  and  praieres, 
Men  mote  give  silver  to  the  poure  freres. 

The  old  knight,  worthy  man,  who  loved  truth  and  hon- 
our, freedom  and  courtesy,  who  had  fought  in  Christen- 
dom and  in  Hethenesse — in  Prussia,  Russia,  Lithuania, 
Grenada  and  Algesira — had  been  at  Alexandria  when  it 
was  won — had  been  in  fifteen  mortal  battles,  and  fought 
thrice  in  the  lists  for  the  faith,  and  aye  slain  his  foe,  yet 

"  Of  his  port  was  meek  as  any  mayde, 
And  never  yet  no  vilanie  ne  sayde 
In  alle  his  Wi,  unto  no  manere  wight ; 
He  was  a  very  parfit  gentil  knight. 

The  ploughman,  who  loved  God  best  with  all  his  heart, 
at  all  times,  were  it  gain  or  smart,"  "would  thresh 
and  thereto  die  and  thereto  delve  for  Criste's  sake  for 
any  poor  wight  f  and  his  brother,  the  poor  parson 
of  the  town,  learned,  benign,  and  diligent,  "  that  Criste's 
Gospel  trewely  wold  preche,"  "  in  adversitie  full  patient," 
as  had  often  been  proved,  "  to  sinful  men  not  despitous," 
but  discreet  to  draw  folk  to  heaven,  yet  able  to  "snibben 
sharply  v  the  obstinate,  were  he  high  or  low.  We  knew 
them  all,  Cousin  Richard  and  I,  and  their  tales  always 


368  THE  EARLY  DA  WN. 

seemed  as  fresh  and  touching  to  us  as  to  talk  of  old 
friends. 

The  .parson  and  the  ploughman,  he  told  me  privately, 
he  believed  to  be  portraits  of  Dr.  Wycliffe  and  Piers 
Plowman,  the  pious  poet.  Thus,  to  me,  Dr.  Wycliffe 's 
name  was  clothed  in  the  charm  of  poetry  and  of  unjust 
aspersion.  I  longed  to  see  him  devoutly  teaching  his 
poor  parishioners  at  Lutterworth,  readier  far  to  give  of 
his  offerings  and  eke  of  his  substance,  than  to  curse  for 
tithes ;  never  failing,  for  any  rain  or  thunder,  to  visit 
the  poorest  in  his  wide  parish,  "  in  sickness  and  in  mis- 
chief," not  on  a  jingling  palfrey,  but  on  his  feet,  with  a 
staff  in  his  hand — "  a  shepherd  and  no  mercenary,"  and 
"teaching  Criste's  life,  but  first  following  it  himself." 

One  evening,  when  I  was  with  my  mother  in  the 
kitchen,  rolling  pie-crust,  and  humming  verses  from 
Chaucer  to  myself,  my  father  came  in  and  told  us  how 
Dr.  Wycliffe  had  been  summoned  before  the  bishops  in 
St.  Paul's,  and  Bishop  Courtney  and  Lord  Percy  had 
chidden  each  other  sharply,  and  the  people  had  stood  for 
their  bishop,  and  there  had  been  a  riot,  the  white-haired 
parson,  with  his  grave,  powerful  face,  standing  silent  and 
fearless  amidst  the  tumult. 

Then,  in  a  few  months,  came  another  summons  of  Dr. 
Wycliffe  to  answer  for  himself  as  a  suspected  heretic  in 
Lambeth  Palace  Chapel.  And  from  that  meeting  my 
father  and  Cousin  Richard  came  back  greatly  excited, 
telling  how  the  citizens  had  rushed  into  the  chapel,  fear- 
ing some  harm  should  happen  the  brave  doctor. 

Sad,  troublesome  times  followed,  of  disturbance  and 
discontent,  and  through  them  all,  I  scarcely  know  how, 
kept  coming  up  the  name  of  Wycliffe.  My  mother  said 
he  was  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  mischief;  she  had  always 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  369 

known  it  would  be  so  ;  shake  one  stone  and  the  rest  will 
fall.  Against  Chaucer  also  she  said  many  sharp  things. 
Father  Bennet,  she  said,  told  her  he  spoke  many  blas- 
phemies against  friars  and  priests,  and  was  more  than 
half  a  heretic  himself,  having  in  his  youth,  moreover,  been 
guilty  of  beating  a  Franciscan  friar  in  the  open  street — 
a  fate,  my  father  said,  many  of  them  well  deserved. 
But  my  mother  thought  of  Cuthbert;  and  thus  altogether 
our  home  became  rather  sad,  especially  when  Cousin 
Richard  was  away  on  long  voyages  for  my  father,  which 
my  mother  much  encouraged.  These  things  pained  and 
fretted  me.  My  mother  traced  'all  our  troubles  back  to 
Dr.  WyclifFe,  and  my  father  to  the  Franciscan  friars ; 
and  thus  there  was  division  in  the  household  which  I  saw 
no  way  to  heal. 

At  length,  one  spring,  she  persuaded  herself  and  my 
father  that  I  was  paler  and  graver  than  a  young  maiden 
ought  to  be,  and  that  the  country  air  for  some  months 
was  needful  to  set  me  up,  so  that  he  undertook  himself  to 
take  me  to  his  step-sister,  the  Franklin's  widow,  among 
the  Yorkshire  hills. 

I  was  not  very  willing  to  go  just  then.  Richard  had 
just  come  back  from  a  great  journey,  and  had  much  to 
tell  of  foreign  parts ;  and  although  he  had  not  by  any 
means  taken  Cuthbert's  place,  with  any  of  us  (was  not 
my  poor  brother's  chamber  still  empty  and  locked  ?)  yet 
it  was  impossible  for  any  place  not  to  feel  more  home-like 
where  he  was. 

But  my  resistance  was  unavailing.  My  father's  fears 
were  roused  about  my  health ;  he  would  not  have  his 
darling  a  pale,  listless  city  damsel,  he  said.  And  so,  one 
morning  early  in  May,  at  three  o'clock,  we  started  by  the 
Great  North  Road. 
16* 


370  THE  EARLY  DAWK 

My  mother  bad  packed  wonderful  baskets  of  provision 
for  us.  We  had  two  large  baggage-trunks  and  two 
serving  men,  and  Cousin  Richard  went  with  us  as  far 
as  St.  Albans  for  protection,  because  the  roads  near 
London  were  infested  with  thieves  watching  for  mer- 
chandise ;  and  although  the  monks  of  St.  Albans  under- 
took to  guard  them  with  armed  retainers,  and  the  wood, 
according  to  statute,  was  cleared  away  for  more  than  a 
hundred  yards  on  either  side  the  road,  my  father  had 
more  faith  in  Cousin  Richard's  sword  than  in  all  the 
hired  men-at-arms. 

When  we  had  passed  the  muddy  way  through  Gray's 
Inn  Lane,  where  the  swine  and  the  deep  puddles  often 
nearly  threw  down  the  horses  in  the  dusk,  it  was  deli- 
cious to  mount  the  hills  into  the  forest  around  the  villages 
of  Hampstead  and  Highgate.  There  Cousin  Richard 
bade  me  listen  to  the  nightingales  that  were  singing  to 
each  other  in  the  trees  on  either  side, 

"  The  small  foules  making  melody 
That  slepen  alle  night  with  open  eye." 

And  as  the  day  rose,  and  we  turned  our  horses'  feet  from 
the  uneven  road  to  the  cool,  soft,  dewy  turf,  where  the 
golden  furze  glowed  above  the  countless  tiny  wild  flowers, 
he  reminded  me  how  "  April,  with  his  soft  showers,  had 
pierced  the  dror.ght  of  March,"  and  Zephyrus,  with  his 
soft  breath,  had  "  inspired  in  every  holt  and  heath  the 
tender  croppes,"  while  the  young  Sun  was  rejoicing  in 
the  heavens. 

He  spoke  more  than  his  wont,  and  was  strangely  blithe, 
I  thought,  seeing  that  I  could  say  but  little  for  fear  of 
weeping.    He  had  much  to  tell  me  of  his  mother's  home 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  371 

among  the  Yorkshire  hills,  and  many  places  to  bid  me 
be  sure  and  see,  and  poor  people  to  ask  about,  and  bring 
him  tidings  of ;  and  especially  he  bade  me  visit  the  old 
mansion  near  the  village  of  Wycliffe,  where  Dr.  Wycliffe 
was  born. 

We  had  no  call  to  hurry,  and  it  was  rare  pleasure  to 
eat  our  bread  and  meat  among  the  woods,  with  thrushes 
and  blackbirds  singing,  and  wild  flowers  welcoming  us 
like  smiles.  I  could  not  wonder  any  one  should  write 
verses  who  lived  among  the  woods  or  fields,  because  it 
all  seemed  written  and  set  to  music  for  us  there  already. 

Towards  evening  our  converse  grew  more  grave,  and 
Cousin  Richard  spoke  again  of  Dr.  Wycliffe ;  how  he 
had  been  very  ill  lately  at  Oxford,  and  the  begging  friars 
had  come  to  him  on  his  sick-bed  and  admonished  him  to 
repent ;  but  he  had  raised  himself,  feeble  as  he  was,  in 
the  bed,  and  said, — 

"  I  shall  yet  live,  and  declare  the  evil  deeds  of  the 
friars,"  so  grimly  and  solemnly,  that  the  poor  friars 
could  say  no  more,  but  left  the  chamber  sorely  discom- 
fitted.  He  spoke  also  of  Chaucer's  Poor  Parson's  Ser- 
mon, and  repeated  many  beautiful  sayings  from  it  con- 
cerning the  goodness  of  God,  and  the  love  we  owe  to 
Christ  who  bled  for  us,  so  that  I  was  sorry  to  see  the 
hill  of  St.  Albans,  crowned  with  its  fair  abbey ;  and 
when  we  parted  the  next  morning,  after  staying  the  night 
at  the  town,  the  good  words  still  lingered  in  my  heart, 
and  gave  me  more  courage  to  go  on  than  I  had  the  day 
before. 

Yet  was  that  day  very  different  from  the  one  before, 
and  I  trow  my  father  thought  me  somewhat  over-grave  ; 
for  when  he  kissed  me,  as  we  parted  for  the  night,  he 
said, — 


372  THE  EARL Y  DA  WN. 

"  Never  be  cast  down,  little  Cicely.  Thou  shalt  be  at 
home  again  soon,  and  we  will  have  merry  days  then. 
Richard  loves  thee  well,  and  thou  wilt  know  thy  duty  to 
me  and  to  him  better  than  to  say  nay.'7 

"  It  is  not  to  be  thought  of,  thou  knowest,  father,"  I 
said. 

"  Why  not  ?"  he  exclaimed,  testily. 

"  My  mother  told  me  long  since  we  are  within  the  pro- 
hibited degrees." 

"Prohibited  cobwebs,"  said  my  father,  angrily.  " Kings 
can  break  through  them  for  policy,  and  merchants  for 
money.  Besides,  Richard  is  but  my  step-nephew ;  scarcely 
kindred  at  all,  but  that  for  his  worth  I  like  to  deem 
him  so." 

MY  SOJOURN  IN  YORKSHIRE. 

THE  home  of  my  aunt,  the  Franklin's  widow,  was 
very  different  from  ours.  There  were  no  carpet3 
in  it,  brought  by  shipmen  from  Syria  or  Italy ;  no  carved 
chairs,  or  boxes  of  perfume  ;  no  pictures,  or  silken  hang- 
ings. But  to  me  it  was  a  perpetual  delight  to  feel  the 
fresh  breeze  come  in  perfumed  with  flowers  and  sweet 
new  grass,  or  with  the  cows'  breath,  as  they  came  home  to 
be  milked  ;  to  hear  the  bees  buzzing  their  happy  songs 
among  the  blossoms,  and  to  watch  the  light,  silent  butter- 
flies hovering  about  like  fairy  spirits.  It  was  a  busy 
home.  The  youngest  child  was  not  seven  years  old,  and 
it  was  a  new  life  to  me  to  help  my  aunt  about  the  farm, 
and  take  care  of  the  children  till  they  grew  to  love  me 
and  cling  about  me  for  tales  and  songs,  and  especially  to 
hear  about  their  brother  Richard.  It  was  wonderful 
how  his  memory  was  cherished. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS. 


373 


My  aunt's  family  knew  very  little  about  books ;  indeed, 
1  never  saw  one  but  an  old  Anglo-Saxon  Gospel  of  St. 
John,  which  had  once  belonged  to  an  ancestor  of  ours, 
called  Editha,  whose  name  was  honoured  in  the  family, 
together  with  that  of  the  Lady  Marguerite  who  founded 
the  convent  by  the  river,  as  much  as  that  of  any  saints. 
They  had  no  books  in  the  house,  but  my  aunt  had  legends 
of  our  Saxon  forefathers  which  to  me  were  better  than 
any  books.  It  was  strange  to  me  who  had  scarcely  ever 
heard  the  words  Norman  and  Saxon,  but  instead  only 
the  common  name  English,  to  find  the  old  distinctions 
still  so  clearly  marked  in  the  country.  At  my  aunt's 
farm  I  heard  strange  merry  tales  and  songs  of  Robin 
Hood,  Friar  Tuck,  and  Clym  of  the  Clough,  and  other 
blithe  foresters  who  held  the  woods  against  the  "  castle- 
men,"  and  rescued  their  countrymen  from  the  gallows, 
and  exacted  heavy  ransoms  from  Norman  barons.  Merry 
men  all  they  were,  merry  even  in  their  revenge,  and 
never  fierce  or  cruel ;  with  good  bows,  and  clad  in  Lin- 
coln green,  who  lived  in  good  greenwood,  with  Saxon 
harp  or  song  and  dance,  and  Saxon  priests  to  wed  and 
bless  them.  (But  in  the  legends  of  the  castles  these  same 
merry  foresters  were  transformed  into  reckless  outlaws, 
highwaymen,  and  thieves.)  At  the  farm  also  there  was 
reverent  memory  kept  of  Saxon  hero  and  saint,  of  King 
Alfred  and  Hereward  of  the  Fens,  of  St.  Oswald  and 
Bishop  Aiden,  of  the  Abbess  Hilda,  of  Boniface  and 
Willibrord,  of  St.  Cuthbert,  the  Venerable  Bede,  Guthlac 
the  hermit,  and  St.  Chad  ;  names  which  at  the  castle, 
(although  in  the  Roman  calendar,)  were  little  thought 
of.  St.  Cecilia,  St.  Agnes,  St.  Martin  of  Tours,  St.  Fran- 
cis, St.  Dominic,  St.  Clare,  and  many  other  foreign  names, 
were  the  sacred  Inu Behold  words  there. 


374  THE  EARL Y  HA  WN. 

It  was  on  the  second  Sunday  after  I  came  to  the  farm 
that  I  first  saw  the  Lady  Clare  of  the  castle.  The  family 
of  the  Baron  do  Garenne  frequently  attended  the  Mass 
in  the  castle  chapel,  instead  of  coming  to  the  village 
church.  But  this  Sunday  was  a  festival,  and  the  stately 
train  came  down  the  hill  from  the  castle.  The  Lady 
de  Garenne  and  the  Lady  Clare,  borne  in  a  gay  gilded 
litter,  with  silken  curtains,  met  us  at  the  church  door.  I 
noticed  the  sweet  face  of  the  young  lady,  and  its  gentle, 
calm  expression,  so  different  from  the  haughty  bearing 
of  her  mother.  And  that  afternoon,  as  I  was  visiting 
an  old  palsied  man  Cousin  Richard  had  told  me  to  in- 
quire for,  I  met  her  again,  carrying  a  little  basket  of 
dainties  in  her  own  hands,  that  the  sick  man  also,  she 
said,  might  keep  the  festival.  She  spoke  very  graciously 
to  me,  and  from  that  time  we  met  often — at  the  castle  or 
at  the  farm,  or  at  the  convent  school,  where  the  village 
children  were  taught  to  spin,  and  say  the  Creed,  the 
Paternoster,  and  the  Ave  Mary.  She  had  a  pleasant 
fancy  that  we  must  be  friends,  because  two  hundred  years 
ago  an  ancestor  of  hers  and  of  mine  had  loved  each  other 
dearly  ;  and  often  we  sat  on  their  graves  in  the  convent 
burial-ground  —  the  stately  monumental  cross  of  the 
Abbess  Marguerite,  and  the  lowly  slab  which  marked 
the  resting-place  of  Editha,  the  daughter  of  Aldred,  and 
Siward  her  husband. 

The  Lady  Clare  was  different  from  any  one  I  had  ever 
seen  in  the  world,  or  in  Chaucer.  When  I  watched  the 
gentle  stateliness  of  her  manner,  her  pretty  courtly  ways, 
and  looked  at  her  broad  fair  brow,  her  soft  red  lips,  or 
listened  to  her  sweet  rich  voice,  musical  in  common 
speech,  and  sweeter  than  convent-bells  at  evening  across 
the  water,  when  she  sanj;  psalm  or  hymn  (the  only  songs 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS. 


375 


she  ever  sung), — I  thought  she  might  be  like  the  Prior- 
ess Madame  Eglantine,  when  she  told  the  sad  tale  of  the 
little  child  who  died  for  his  love  to  Christ  and  His  dear 
mother,  and  yet  did  say,  Alma  Redemptoris  mater.  "All 
conscience  and  tender  heart  P  she  seemed.  And  yet  there 
was  a  depth  and  fervour  in  her  dark  eyes  Madame 
Eglantine's  gray  eyes  could  never  have  had  ;  there  was 
no  mere  prettiness  or  pettiness  about  her,  and  she  could 
never  have  made  "  small  hounds  "  the  joy  or  sorrow  of 
her  life. 

Her  sisters  were  married.  Her  parents  wanted  her  to 
become  abbess  of  the  family  convent  founded  by  the  Lady 
Marguerite,  but  she  said  the  convent  had  become  a  mere 
idling-place  to  dream  life  away.  She  had  spent  six 
months  there  once,  and  she  said  the  conversation  of  the 
nuns  wearied  her  to  death,  with  their  small  bickerings 
and  small  ambitions,  their  confections,  their  ailments,  and 
their  ceremonies.  They  thought  as  much  of  the  making 
and  materials  of  their  nun's  dress  as  her  sisters  of  their 
court  robes  of  state.  They  misunderstood  each  other, 
and  found  fault  with  each  other,  and  had  gossips  enough 
in  their  small  community  to  supply  a  city.  If  a  pet  bird 
or  hound  of  the  abbess  fell  sick,  there  were  tears  enough 
about  it  to  bewail  a  child. 

"A  melancholy,  hopeless,  lifeless  life,"  she  said  ;  "  like 
what  the  old  heathens  used  to  feign  of  the  dead, — a  world 
of  shades,  where  the  only  solace  of  the  spirits  was  to  live 
over  again,  in  a  dim,  shadowy  way,  the  fastings  and  the 
feastings  of  earth." 

And  then  she  told  me  the  histories  of  St.  Francis  and 
St.  Clare,  her  patroness — of  their  toiling  night  and  day 
in  the  great  cities,  to  succour  the  poor,  and  tend  the  sick, 
and  solace  the  dying. 


376  THE  EARL  Y  DA  WN. 

"  That  is  the  life  I  mean  to  lead  when  I  am  a  nun," 
said  the  Lady  Clare  ;  "  to  lead  a  life  as  full  of  life  as  my 
sisters  in  their  married  homes,  with  joys  as  deep,  sorrows 
as  real,  love  as  human  :  but  not  for  myself — not  for  me 
and  mine — but  for  Christ  the  Lord  and  his  Church  ; 
serving  his  poor,  nursing  his  orphans,  solacing  his  suffer- 
ers— my  name  lost  in  His,  my  life  lost  in  His.  And  this 
grace  one  day  I  trust  He  will  bestow  on  me." 

Thus  we  grew  to  love  each  other  very  dearly.  I  told 
her  of  the  poor  parson  in  the  "  Canterbury  Tales,"  of  the 
martyred  child  of  St.  Cecilia,  and  the  holy  Lady  Con- 
stance, wife  of  King  Ella  of  Northumbria,  whom  God  led 
safely,  with  her  babe,  in  the  rudderless  boat,  through  the 
salt  sea.  And  I  told  her  of  my  brother  Cuthbert,  and 
all  I  knew  of  the  Poor  Clares,  the  Minorite  sisters,  whose 
convent  was  in  London,  near  St.  Catherine's,  by  the 
Thames. 

And  she  told  me  holy  legends  of  St.  Catherine,  St. 
Agnes,  and  St.  Marguerite,  and  especially  of  the  holy 
Francis  and  St.  Clare ;  and  sang  me  Latin  hymns,  ex- 
pounding to  me  their  sense  in  English.  Marvellously 
sweet  they  were  from  her  voice,  especially  the  new  one 
by  the  Franciscan  Jacopone,  Dies  irce,  dies  ilia,  whose 
rhythm  only  spoken  flows  like  a  heavenly  song. 

Of  the  name  most  revered  by  cousin  Richard,  however, 
I  dared  never  speak  to  her — namely,  of  Dr.  Wycliffe. 
She  dreaded  it  as  much  as  did  my  dear  mother,  and 
crossed  herself,  and  said  her  Franciscan  confessor  had 
told  her  he  was  a  damnable  heretic  j  which  made  me 
fear  cousin  Richard  and  I  had  been  too  hasty  in  taking 
up  his  praises,  and  that  my  mother,  after  all,  might  be 
right. 

On  my  way  home,  however,  I  learned  to  think  other- 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  377 

wise.  My  father  had  another  brother,  an  aged  priest  of 
a  parish  in  Leicestershire  ;  and  it  was  arranged  that  he 
should  fetch  me  and  Ethel,  one  of  my  aunt's  daughters, 
to  pay  him  a  little  visit  before  I  returned  to  London. 

My  uncle  was  not  exactly  like  any  of  the  priests  or 
friars  in  the  *  Canterbury  Tales."  He  was,  I  thought, 
something  of  a  compound  of  the  Franklin  and  the  Clerk 
of  Oxenforde,  if  such  a  compound  can  be  imagined ;  a 
homely,  comfortable  man,  with  a  fat  benefice,  and -a  table 
always  ready  covered  and  open  to  all  comers  in  his  hall ; 
yet  withal  a  great  lover  of  books,  looking,  it  seemed  to 
me,  on  men  and  women,  and  their  history ,^8  a  kind  of 
necessary  but  inconvenient  interruption,  to  his  studies. 
His  real  kingdom  was  his  library  ;  his  parish  was  a  for- 
eign land,  into  which  he  made  a  journey  on  Sundays  and 
holidays,  or  whenever  he  was  called  to  take  the  holy  sa- 
crament to  the  dying.  In  his  house  ruled  supreme  Mis- 
tress Margery,  Iris  mother's  widowed  sister.  From  him, 
therefore,  I  could  get  no  solution  of  my  difficulties  con- 
cerning Dr.  Wycliffe  and  the  Franciscans.  His  studies 
did  not,  indeed,  reach  so  far  down  as  St.  Francis.  He 
could  tell  you  every  particular  of  the  controversies  be- 
tween Athanase  and  the  Arians,  and  the  semi-Arians, 
the  Sabellians,  and  the  Samosatensians  ;  but  of  Dr.  Wy- 
cliffe  he  knew^nothing  whatever,  except  that  he  was  the 
parson  of  the  neighbouring  parish  of  Lutterworth. 

I  had  therefore  to  observe  for  myself. 

My  first  sight  of  Dr.  Wycliffe  was  at  the  cottage  of  a 
poor  labourer  of  my  uncle's,  who  lived  on  the  outskirts 
of  Lutterworth.  As  I  was  entering  the  door  of  the  hovel 
with  my  little  wallet  from  Mistress  Margery's  stores,  I 
saw  a  tall  figure  coming  up  along  the  road  from  the 
bridge  which  crosses  the  river  below  Lutterworth.     As 


378  THE  EARLY  DA WK 

he  drew  nearer,  by  his  grave,  powerful  face,  his  long  ven- 
erable beard,  his  tall  white  staff,  his  plain  belted  robe 
and  sandalled  feet,  his  slow  steps,  as  of  one  weak  from 
recent  illness,  I  felt  sure  it  was  he  Richard  had  so  often 
described  to  me — the  original  of  the  portrait  of  the  poor 
parson  of  the  town. 

I  entered  the  hovel,  gave  the  contents  of  my  wallet 
to  the  sick  man,  and  waited  to  see  if  the  parson  would 
enter.  In  a  short  time  he  came  in,  blessing  the  house 
and  all  in  it,  as  he  entered,  with  a  faith  and  gravity 
which  made  me  feel,  "He  has  blessed  me,  and  I  am 
blessed." 

There,  by  the  bed-side  of  that  poor  sick  man,  I  heard 
words  such  as  I  had  never  heard  before,  about  sin  and 
doom,  and  Christ  and  his  passion,  and  God  and  his 
goodness. 

I  hid  my  face  and  wept  quite  gently,  lest  I  should  miss 
one  of  the  precious  words,  until  he  once -more  prayed  for 
a  blessing  on  the  sufferer  and  on  me,  and  left. 

I  was- very  quiet  all  that  day.  All  things  around  me 
seemed  mere  thin  vapoury  clouds  compared  with  the 
great  eternal  realities  of  which  I  had  been  hearing. 

After  that  I  missed  no  opportunity  of  attending  mass 
or  preaching  in  Lutterworth  Church  with  my  cousin 
Ethel.  Happily  for  me,  the  offices  in  my  uncle's  church 
were  not  frequent,  and  he  preached  only  the  four  pre- 
scribed sermons  annually,  on  the  fourteen  articles  of  the 
faith,  the  ten  commandments,  the  two  evangelical  pre- 
cepts, the  seven  works  of  mercy,  and'  the  seven  sacra- 
ments. Mistress  Margery  knew  little  of  any  world  but 
the  rectory,  and  my  uncle  had  not  yet  come  down  far 
enough  in  history  to  be  aware  of  the  suspicions  against 
the  doctor  ;  and  therefore  they  simply  regarded  me  as  a 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS. 


• 


379 


very  religious  maiden,  who,  my  cousin  Ethel  told  me, 
Mistress  Margery  suspected  had  probably  been  crossed 
in  love,  and  would  become  a  nun. 

Dr.  Wycliffe  had  only  held  the  living  four  years  (since 
1376),  and  had  hitherto  passed  half  the  year  lecturing  on 
divinity  at  Oxford. 

There  in  the  little  church  at  Lutterworth,  on  the  hill 
among  the  trees,  I  heard  truths  which  made  all  life  new 
to  me.  I  heard  him  first  on  Christmas  Day  speak  of  the 
Child  born  to  us,  in  whom  we  should  have  joy  ;  of  Adam's 
sin  and  ours ;  how  the  justice  of  God  could  not  suifer 
him  to  forgive  sin  of  his  mere  power  without  atonement, 
else  must  he  give  free  license  to  sin  both  in  angels  and 
men,  and  then  sin  were  no  sin,  and  our  God  were  no  God  ; 
how  the  nature  that  sinned  must  be  the  nature  to  make 
atonement,  and  yet  every  man  "being  bound  to  serve  God 
to  the  extent  of  his  power  for  himself,  can  have  nothing 
beyond  wherewith  to  make  atonement  for  himself  or 
others — wherefore  the  atoning  Lord  needed  both  to  be 
God  and  man.  Then  he  said  how,  if  indeed  this  Child 
was  to  be  born  "  to  us,"  to  be  our  joy,  we  must  follow  him 
in  the  meekness  of  his  birth,  in  the  meekness,  righteous- 
ness, and  patience  of  his  life  and  death  ;  that  so  this  joy 
in  the  patience  of  Christ  might  bring  us  to  the  joy  that 
shall  ever  last. 

Again  I  heard  him  speak  of  the  Passion  of  Christ, 
bidding  men  print  it  on  their  hearts ;  how  it  was  most 
voluntary  and  most  painful.  Most  voluntary,  and  there- 
fore most  meritorious  ;  for  with  desire,  the  desire  of  his 
Godhead  and  his  manhood,  he  desired  to  eat  that  pass- 
over,  and  afterwards  to  suffer.  And  most  painful ;  for 
he  was  the  most  tender  of  men,  and  suffered  in  body  and 
mind :    and  the  ingratitude  and  contempt  were  most 


380  TEE  EARLY  DA  WK 

painful ;  for  men  who  should  have  loved  him  most  or- 
dained for  him  the  foulest  death  in  return  for  the  deep- 
est kindness. 

Beautiful  it  was  also  to  hear  him  speak  of  the  grace 
of  God,  and  of  all  the  good  we  have  or  do  being  his  gift ; 
so  that "  when  he  rewardeth  a  good  work  of  man,  he 
crowneth  his  own  gift." 

Of  other  severer  and  darker  matters,  also,  Dr.  Wycliffc 
preached.  Of  Antichrist ;  of  false  friars  and  priests  ;  of 
the  "  two  days  of  judgment " — man's  day  and  God's  day  ; 
of  the  poor,  fallible,  reversible  judgments  of  men  j  and 
of  the  sure,  righteous,  eternal  doom  of  God. 

He  spoke  also  of  the  source  whence  all  his  preaching 
was  derived — the  holy  Word  of  God — which  should,  he 
said,  be  in  every  man's  hand  in  English,  by  God's  grace, 
before  many  years  had  passed.  It  was  this  which  occu- 
pied him  in  all  his  leisure  at  the  rectory,  when  he  was 
not  preaching  or  visiting  his  sick  and  aged  parishioners. 

Dr.  Wycliffe  was  translating  the  Holy  Scriptures  into 
English.  Of  all  his  works  this  seemed  to  me  the  most 
undoubtedly  right,  and  the  one  which  all  Christian  men 
must  most  approve.  For  what  can  be  dear  to  Christians 
as  Christ's  own  words  ?  And  if  the  Venerable  Bede 
had  translated  the  Gospel  of  St.  John,  which  I  had  seen 
at  the  farm,  for  the  lay  people  of  his  day,  and  died  fin- 
ishing his  work,  as  they  say,  and  been  held  a  saint,  why 
should  it  not  be  a  saintly  work  for  Dr.  Wycliffe  to  do 
the  same  for  us  poor  English  men  and  women  of  these 
days,  who  can  read  neither  Bede's  Saxon  nor  the  Church 
Latin?  Alack!  and  it  seems  to  me  that  work,  more 
than  any  other,  which  draws  down  curses  on  his  mem- 
ory, because,  as  they  say,  "  he  hath  turned  the  jewel  of 
the  Church  into  the  sport  of  the  people,  and  the  choice 


A  STOUT  OF  TUB  LOLLARDS.  381 

gift  of  the  clergy  and  divines  he  hath  made  for  ever 
common  to  the  laity." 

I  stayed  nearly  two  years  at  my  uncle's  rectory.  The 
country  was  disturbed.  Wat  Tyler  and  the  Kentish 
men  had  risen  against  the  young  King  Richard,  or,  as 
they  said,  against  the  king's  evil  counsellors  ;  and  it  was 
not  until  the  insurgents,  who  had  assembled  to  the  num- 
ber of  forty  thousand  on  Blackheath,  close  to  London, 
were  dispersed,  that  my  father  held  it  safe  to  fetch  me 
home. 

Thus  I  had  ample  opportunity  for  hearing  "  the  evan- 
gelical doctor  "  preach  ;  and  what  was,  if  possible,  better, 
I  procured,  by  spending  all  the  money  I  had  left,  a  copy 
of  such  of  the  Gospels  and  other  books  of  the  New  and 
Old  Testaments  as  were  already  translated — "  God's  law 
written  in  English  for  lewd  (lay)  men." 

For  in  the  little  town  of  Lutterworth  at  that  time 
there  were  many  scribes  working  at  multiplying  copies 
of  the  English  Scriptures.  Some  of  them  also  divided 
their  time  between  copying  the  sacred  manuscripts  and 
going  about  among  the  villages  and  cottages  preaching 
to  any  who  would  listen  ;  in  churchyards,  farm-houses, 
market-places,  "  poor  priests,"  like  their  master,  the  poor 
parson,  enlisted  in  the  same  work,  preaching  as,  he  said, 
Christ  did — now  at  meat,  now  at  supper,  at  whatever 
time  it  was  convenient  for  others  to  hear  him.  Once  I 
heard  Dr.  Wycliffe  in  the  pulpit  saying  these  words  : 
"  The  Gospel  telleth  us  the  duty  which  falls  to  all  the  dis- 
ciples of  Christ,  and  also  how  priests,  both  high  and  low, 
should  occupy  themselves  in  the  church  of  God,  and  in 
serving  him.  And  first,  Jesus  himself  did  indeed  the 
lessons  he  taught.  The  Gospel  relates  how  he  went  about 
in  places  of  the  country,  both  great  and  small,  in  cities 


382  THE  EARLY  DAWN. 

and  castles,  or  in  small  towns,  and  this  that  he  might 
teach  us  how  to  become  profitable  to  men  generally,  and 
not  to  forbear  to  preach  to  people  because  they  are  few, 
and  our  name  may  not  in  consequence  be  great.  For  we 
should  labour  for  God,  and  from  him  hope  for  our  reward. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  Christ  went  into  small,  uplandish 
towns,  as  to  Bethphage  and  Cana  of  Galilee  ;  for  Christ 
went  to  all  those  places  where  he  wished  to  do  good.  He 
laboured  not  for  gain ;  he  was  not  smitten  with  either 
pride  or  covetuousness." 

When  I  went  home  that  evening,  I  repeated  these 
words  to  myself  again  and  again,  and  to  my  cousin  Ethel, 
that  I  might  never  forget  them  (not  being  able  to  write)  ; 
because  they  made  me  feel,  as  I  never  felt  before,  that 
Christ  the  blessed  Lord  went  about  teaching  on  this  very 
earth,  in  a  country  like  ours,  among  little  towns  and  vil- 
lages, and  poor  lay  people  like  us.  And  they  made  me 
feel  also  that  all  the  disciples  of  Christ,  not  priests  only 
and  friars,  but  I,  even,  a  simple  burgher  maiden,  was 
called  in  some  way,  in  my  humble  quiet  place,  not  only 
to  listen  but  to  tell  to  those  around  me  the  good  tidings 
of  great  joy. 

The  next  day  a  messenger  came  on  horseback  to  the 
rectory  from  the  bishops  who  had  met  in  London,  warn- 
ing my  uncle  and  all  the  clergy  around  Lutterworth,  as 
they  valued  their  everlasting  salvation,  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  the  notorious  heretic  Wycliffe,  silenced  in  that 
year  at  Oxford  for  his  damnablt  doctrines. 

My  uncle  started  up  as  if  from  a  dream.  "  Dr.  Wyc- 
liffe notorious,  and  a  heretic !"  he  said,  "  a  man  whom 
bishops  have  thought  it  worth  while  to  meet  to  censure  ? 
What  can  it  all  mean  ?  Is  he  an  Arian  or  a  Sabellian, 
or  can  he,  perchance,  have  been  tainted  with  the  notable 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  383 

heresy  of  the  Monophysites  ?  In  these  days  the  whole 
world  is  Catholic  and  orthodox.  A  heretic  is  the  next 
parish  to  me  ?  One  would  think  one  were  living  in  the 
days  of  Athanase." 

Mistress  Margery's  view  of  the  matter  was,  to  my 
grief,  more  practical. 

"  See,"  she  said,  "  how  little  we  simple  folk  can  judge. 
Here  are  all  the  poor  people  around  revering  Dr.  Wyc- 
liffe  as  the  holiest  parson  in  the  country  ;  and  here  have 
Cicely  and  Ethel  been  running  to  his  preachings  day  by 
day.  Never  enter  the  doors  of  that  church  again,  chil- 
dren," she  added  irrevocably  ;  "  and  let  it  be  a  warning 
to  you  both  all  your  lives,  never  to  desert  your  parish 
church.  See  what  perils  you  have  escaped !  you  might 
have  become  tainted  with  some  foul  heresy  without  know- 
ing it !" 

Mistress  Margery  believed  that  heresy  was  a  thing  to 
be  caught  like  the  plague  ;  and  never  again  were  we  suf- 
fered to  approach  Lutterworth.  • 

Instead,  we  had  a  new  series  of  sermons  from  my  uncle, 
departing  in  this  emergency  from  his  ordinary  church 
form,  against  all  the  heretics  of  the  Oriental  Greek  and 
Latin  Churches  as  far  as  the  time  of  St.  Augustine  ;  but 
when  he  reached  this  period,  to  our  infinite  relief,  the 
insurgent  peasants  had  been  dispersed,  and  King  Richard 
and  good  Queen  Anne  of  Bohemia  had  been  right  loyally 
received  by  the  citizens,  and  my  father  came  to  take  us 
back  to  London. 

And  with  us  went  the  copies  of  what  had  been  written 
for  me  at  Lutterworth,  of  portions  of  Wycliffe's  English 
Bible. 


384  THE  EARL  T  DA  WN. 

CUTHBERT'S   TALE. 

Lambeth,  1420. 

ONCE  more  in  prison,  but  no  more  in  darkness, — 
never  more  in  darkness.  Under  my  feet  the  ground 
is  firm.  I  stand  on  the  rock  whereon  the  Church  is  built. 
Over  my  head  the  sky  is  clear.  I  see  the  way  open  into 
the  sanctuary  of  sanctuaries,  and  in  its  depths  of  light, 
Himself  the  Light  of  Light,  I  gaze  in  faith  on  the  Only- 
Begotten,  the  Lamb  of  God,  the  Priest  of  man,  the  Par- 
doner, without  money  and  without  price.  Around  me 
in  uplandish  towns,  in  forest  hamlets,  in  lonely  home- 
steads, in  crowded  cities,  I  see  the  lost  sheep  lost  no 
more,  returning  to  the  fold,  following  the  good  Shepherd, 
listening  to  his  voice,  obedient  to  his  call, — obedient  even 
unto  death. 

There  is  little  chance  of  my  escaping  now.  There  are 
statutes  enough  against  heretics  in  England  now,  and 
tribunals  enough  to  condemn  them,  and  informers  enough 
to  betray,  and  stakes  enough  to  burn. 

Such  changes  the  last  thirty  years  have  wrought ;  and 
yet  I  hold  the  last  thirty  years  the  best  and  most  pros- 
perous England  has  ever  seen. 

For,  once  more  God's  yea  and  amen,  the  blessed  Sa- 
viour's "  verily/'  has  gone  forth  into  the  world,  and  He 
teacheth  in  men's  homes  and  hearts,  who  speaketh  with 
authority,  and  not  as  the  scribes. 

Thirty  years  ago,  on  the  morning  when  I  heard  in  the 
prison  of  the  Minorites  that  sweet  voice  chanting  the 
"  Dies  Ira3,"  and  awoke  once  more  to  the  desire  of  life,  I 
looked  through  my  prison  bars,  and  recognised  spreading 
out  before  me  the  familiar  levels  of  Goodman's  and  Spital 
Fields.     My  prison  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  and 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  385 

once  beyond  the  walls,  I  had  no  doubt  but  that  I  might 
reach  my  home. 

Heretic  hunting  being  by  no  means  such  a  keen  and 
familiar  pursuit  in  England  then  as  now  (when  the  con- 
demned heretic's  property  is  divided  between  the  tribunal 
which  convicts  him,  the  place  where  he  is  convicted,  and 
the  crown),  I  effected  my  escape  without  much  difficulty, 
only  laming  myself  in  my  descent  from  the  prison  win- 
dow. It  was  midnight  when  I  contrived  to  limp  through 
the  dark  and  uneven  streets  to  the  door  of  my  old  home. 

The  old  servant,  who  opened  the  door  at  my  knocking, 
said,  like  Rhoda  in  the  Acts,  "  It  is  his  ghost,"  and  again 
shut  me  out  into  the  darkness. 

But  in  a  few  minutes  my  mother  came  and  folded  me 
in  her  arms,  and  sobbed,  and  said, — 

"  I  always  knew  thou  wouldst  come  back." 

My  father  made  little  ado  ;  but  his  voice  faltered  as  he 
took  a  great  key  from  his  girdle  and  said  to  my  mother, — 

"  Mother,  there  is  the  key  of  the  lad's  chamber." 

But  Cicely,  now  grown  to  a  tall,  fair  woman,  would 
have  roused  the  whole  neighbourhood  to  rejoice  with  us, 
had  I  not  stopped  her  by  saying, — 

"  Let  not  a  soul  know  I  am  here,  and  wait  to  hear 
what  I  have  to  tell  before  we  know  if  it  is  safe  for  you 
to  receive  me  at  all.  I  have  escaped  this  night  from  the 
prison  of  the  Franciscan  friars,  where  I  have  been  lying 
for  weeks  under  charge  of  heresy, 

My  mother  turned  pale  as  death  ;  but  my  father  grasped 
my  hand,  and  said, — 

"The  friars  will  need  to  turn  all  their  abbeys  into 
prisons  if  they  would  seize  all  the  good  men  they  call 
heretics.  Where  didst  thou  learn  to  hate  their  evil 
deeds  ?" 

17 


3  86  THE  EABL  Y  DA  WK 

"  In  Italy,"  I  said,  "  I  found  the  book  for  reading  which 
I  was  thrown  into  prison." 

"Have  Dr.  WyclinVs  writings  then  reached  even  to 
the  Pope's  own  land  ?"  said  my  father. 

I  was  bewildered.  I  had  never  heard  Dr.  WyclinVs 
name.  It  was  Abbot  Joachim's  Everlasting  Gospel  and 
the  heresy  of  the  Spiritual  Franciscans  that  had  brought 
me  into  trouble. 

My  father's  countenance  fell  as  he  heard  this  ;  out  the 
colour  came  back  to  my  mother's  face. 

A  feast  of  welcome  was  prepared  for  the  wanderer, 
although  without  the  music,  and  the  dancing,  and  the 
calling  the  neighbours  together.  In  a  few  hours  my  old 
chamber  was  ready  for  me,  and  I  was  asleep  on  the  old 
bed. 

The  pain  in  my  lamed  leg  awoke  me,  and  strange  it 
was  to  wake  in  the  old  familiar  room,  and  look  up  into 
my  mother's  face  as  she  sat  watching  beside  me. 

"  Night  and  day  I  have  prayed,"  she  said,  "  to  see  thee 
once  again  before  I  die.  Tell  me,  my  son,  can  God  have 
answered  my  prayers  in  anger,  and  sent  thee  back  to  me 
in  judgment?  I  have  loved  every  Grey  friar  for  thy 
sake,  Cuthbert,  since  thou  didst  leave  us.  Tell  me  those 
words  last  night  were  but  an  ill  dream.  Thou  art  no 
heretic  ;  thou  never  wilt  be,  promise  me,  my  son." 

"  I  would  not  be  a  heretic,  mother,  indeed,"  I  said,  "  if 
I  could  tell  how  to  help  it.  But  would  to  God  I  were 
no  friar.  And  how  God  hath  answered  thy  prayers,  in 
sooth  I  know  not,  for  I  know  not  what  prayers  reach  him, 
nor  how  he  answers  any,  such  confusion,  and  hypocrisy, 
and  unbelief,  and  lying  have  I  seen  since  I  was  in  this 
chamber  last ;  such  luxury  among  friars  sworn  to  pov- 
erty,— such  pride,  and  mockery;  and  intrigue."     For 


A  STOUT  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  387 

my  heart  was  very  bitter,  and  I  could  not  hide  it  from 
her. 

"  But  at  least,"  she  said,  catching  at  her  last  straw  of 
consolation,  "  thou  art  no  Wycliffite.     It  is  not  from  that 
perilous  tongue  of  Wycliffe  that  thou  hast  learnt  to  dis- 
like the  friars  ?" 
***  No,"  said  I,  "  I  have  seen  them  myself." 

She  said  no  more.  The  hurt  in  my  leg  pained  me  more 
severely.  And  the  next  day  my  father  insisted  on  my 
seeing  cousin  Richard,  who,  in  his  voyages  to  foreign 
parts,  had  picked  up  some  skill  in  leech-craft. 

We  soon  understood  each  other.  To  him  I  could  pour 
out  the  burdens  of  my  heart  as  I  could  neither  to  my 
mother  nor  to  Cicely.  He  seemed  to  understand  it  all ; 
but  he  said, — 

"  Be  of  good  cheer.  This  gulf  of  darkness  has  a  bottom. 
This  sea  on  which  you  are  tossing  has  a  shore  ;  and  what 
is  more,  the  ship  in  which  you  are  tossed  has  a  Pilot." 

And  he  went  and  fetched  me  a  manuscript,  and  read  : 

"  And  anon  Jesus  compelled  the  disciples  to  go  up  in 
to  a  boat,  and  go  before  him  over  the  sea,  while  he  left 
the  people,  and  when  the  people  was  left,  he  stied  (went 
up)  alone  into  a  hill  to  pray  ;  but  when  the  evening  was 
come  he  was  there  alone,  and  the  boat  in  the  middle  of 
the  sea  was  schogged  (tossed)  with  waves,  for  the  wind 
was  contrary  to  them ;  but  in  the  fourth  waking  of  the 
night,  he  came  to  them  walking  above  the  sea.  And 
they  seeing  him  walking  on  the  sea  were  distroubled,  and 
said  that  it  is  a  phantom,  and  for  dread  they  cried,  and 
anon  Jesus  spake  to  them  and  said,  Have  ye  trust  I  am  ; 
nyle  ye  dread. 

"  It  is  the  fourth  waking  of  the  night  with  your  cousin," 
he  said,  "  and  the  boat  is  tossed,  but  it  is  no  phantom 


3  88  THE  EARL  T  DA  WW. 

which  speaks  to  you  through  the  darkness  and  the  storm." 
And  he  read  on  : 

"  And  Peter  answered  and  said,  Lord,  if  thou  art,  com- 
mand me  to  come  to  thee  on  the  waters. 

"And  he  said,  Come  thou,  and  Peter  gede  down  from 
the  boat  and  walked  on  the  waters  to  come  to  Jesus,  but 
he  saw  the  wind  strong  and  was  afeard,  and  when  he 
began  to  drench,  he  cried,  Lord,  make  me  safe,  and  anon 
Jesus  held  forth  his  hand,  and  took  Peter,  and  said  to 
him,  Thou  of  little  faith,  why  hast  thou  doubted, 'and 
when  he  had  stied  in  to  the  boat,  the  wind  ceased,  and 
they  that  were  in  the  boat  came  and  worshipped  him  and 
said,  Yerily  thou  art  God's  Son." 

I  could  scarcely  account  for  it.  I  lay  still  quietly 
weeping  as  of  old  when  my  mother  told  me  some  touch- 
ing sacred  history.  Doubtless  I  was  weak  with  my  hurt, 
and  with  prison  fare,  and  with  long  anguish  of  mind. 
But  it  was  long  since  tears  had  risen  to  my  eyes.  And 
this  was  no  tale  of  woe,  no  story  of  wrong  and  agony  to 
harrow  the  heart,  no  appeal  such  as  the  Friars'  Preach- 
ers make  on  Passion  Week  or  on  Martyrs'  Festivals,— 
appealing  with  quivering  voices,  clasped  hands,  and 
streaming  eyes,  to  the  blood-stained  crucifix,  the  pierced 
side,  the  nailed  hands  and  feet,  until  the  people  sobbed, 
and  wailed,  and  beat  their  breasts,  as  I  had  seen  them 
often  in  Italy.  Richard's  voice  was  calm  and  steady, 
the  story  was  cheerful  and  quiet,  the  words  of  comfort 
very  simple  and  very  few.  Yet  could  I  do  nothing  but 
cover  my  face  for  shame  at  these  childish  tears  and  weep, 
so  deep  did  the  soft,  slow-falling  words  pierce  into  my 
inmost  heart. 

"  Thou  of  little  faith,  why  hast  thou  doubted  ?  have  ye 
trust  I  am  1" 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  389 

"  Yerily,  verily  thou  art  God's  Son." 

The  verily  1  had  longed  for  had  come  to  my  heart  at 
last. 

Richard  made  no  sign  that  he  observed  me,  but  read  on : 

"  And  when  they  had  passed  over  the  sea,  they  came 
in  to  the  land  of  Genaser,  and  when  men  of  that  place 
had  known  Him,  they  sent  in  to  all  the  country,  and 
they  brought  to  him  all  that  had  sickness,  and  they  prayed 
him  that  they  should  touch  the  hem  of  his  clothing,  and 
whoever  touched  were  made  safe." 

In  a  deep,  grave  voice  Richard  continued  : 

"  Then  the  scribes  and  the  Pharisees  came  to  him  from 
Jerusalem  and  said,  Why  break  thy  disciples  the  tradi- 
tions of  elder  men  ?  For  they  wash  not  their  hands  when 
they  eat  bread." 

I  laid  my  hand  on  the  book  to  stop  him,  and  begged 
him  to  leave  me  for  a  while. 

Of  scribes  and  Pharisees,  and  washing  hands  and  tra- 
ditions of  elders,  I  had  heard  enough  in  those  bitter  ten 
years. 

What  wonder  they  should  carp  and  babble  now,  when 
the  voice  which  calmed  the  winds,  the  hands  that  made 
Peter  safe  on  the  sea,  the  presence  which  healed  all  who 
touched,  would  not  silence  them  ?  But  with  the  hushed 
waves,  the  echo  of  whose  raging  was  in  their  ears,  couch- 
ing at  His  feet  quiet  as  a  tamed  steed  at  its  master's 
touch,  with  the  healed  sufferers  pressing  joyfully  around 
Him,  with  the  sense  of  a  Divine  Presence  striking  every 
heart  into  awe,  they  could  still  talk  of  washing  hands, 
and  cups,  and  plates ! 

But  what  to  us  was  the  strife  of  tongues  any  more  than 
the  strife  of  winds,  since  through  it  all  came  that  voice, 
"  I  am.    Nyle  ye  dread." 


39° 


TEE  EARLY  DAWK. 


I  know  not  how  long  I  lay  still  alone,  scarcely  thinking 
nor  praying,  asking  nor  remembering,  but  simply  resting, 
resting  my  whole  soul,  as  Peter  rested  his  whole  weight 
on  that  unfailing  Hand. 

For  weeks  during  my  recovery  I  fed  on  those  divine 
words  from  the  precious  manuscripts  Cicely  had  brought 
from  Lutterworth,  as  Richard  or  Cicely  read  them  to 
me,  or  as  I  tried  to  sit  up  and  could  read  them  to  myself. 

Many  changes  have  come  on  me  since  then.  The  con- 
fusions in  the  world  and  in  the  Church  have  not  passed 
away  ;  but  in  my  heart  from  that  time  to  this  there  has 
been,  instead  of  a  chaos,  a  great  calm  ;  instead  of  man's 
"Peradventure,"  Christ's  "  Verily." 

"  Yerily,  verily,  he  that  heareth  my  words,  and  believeth 
on  Him  that  sent  me,  hath  everlasting  life." 

"  Yerily  thou  art.  Thou  art  the  Saviour,  the  Son  of  God." 

By  degrees  the  audience  at  those  readings  increased. 
Cicely,  and  Richard,  and  Ethel ;  and  now  and  then  Mar- 
gery, the  faithful  old  servant ;  and  after  his  day's  busi- 
ness my  father ;  and  at  first  half  hesitatingly,  but  at  length 
more  regularly  than  any  one,  my  mother. 

"  Even  Dr.  Wycliffe  would  not  surely  dare  to  falsify 
the  holy  evangelists,"  she  said,  at  first,  to  excuse  herself 
for  listening,  until  the  divine  histories  wrought  their  own 
work  on  her  poor  troubled  heart,  and  she  ceased  to  won- 
der at  anything,  unless  it  was  why  the  priests  and  friars 
had  not  given  this  book  to  the  people  long  before. 

"  Books  written,"  she  said,  "  by  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul ; 
words  spoken  by  the  blessed  Lord  himself;  and  such 
words — so  deep,  so  pure,  so  simple,  so  divine — children 
might  understand  them ;  dying  men,  too  feeble  to  grasp 
anything  else,  might  grasp  them ;  hardened  sinners,  too 
hard  to  feel  anything  else  must  feel  them  ; — and  to  keep 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS. 


39 


these  back  from  the  thirsty  multitudes,  and  give  them  in- 
stead such  tales  as  the  friars  tell !" 

"  Tales,"  chimed  in  my  father, "  to  which  wise  men  will 
not  listen,  and  maidens  should  not,  and  which  no  man 
can  believe ;  tales  of  phantoms  and  devils,  of  saints  whose 
holiness  consisted  in  transgressing  the  fifth  commandment, 
and  whose  best  works  were  wrought  by  their  bones  when 
they  were  dead  ; — because,  forsooth,  they  are  '  safer  for 
the  lay  people !' " 

"Histories,"  said  Cousin  Richard,  "which  certainly 
never  end  with  *  Nyle  ye  dread/  since  their  chief  aim  is 
to  make  men  dread,  and  to  wring  from  terrified  consciences 
wealth  for  the  Church.  With  too  many  of  them,  at  least!" 
he  added,  "  but,  thank  God,  not  with  all." 

Thus  God's  word,  which  in  Dr.  WyclifiVs  first  present- 
ing of  it  had  caused  so  much  division  and  trouble  of 
heart  in  our  household,  at  last  in  its  own  pure  light  made 
us  to  be  of  one  mind  in  the  house.  And,  in  good  sooth, 
"  there  was  great  joy  among  us,"  as  of  old  in  the  city  of 
Samaria,  where  the  same  glad  tidings  reached. 

Some  good  man  says,  God  first  gives  his  children  food, 
and  bids  them  rest ;  and  then,  when  they  are  strong 
enough,  he  sends  them  forth  to  the  battle.  For  who,  in 
this  world  of  ceaseless  holy  war,  would  wish  to  be  always 
a  babe,  and  never  to  endure  hardness  as  a  good  soldier 
of  Jesus  Christ? 

When  I  recovered,  it  was  decided  that  I  should  throw 
off  my  Grey  friar's  frock,  as  no  longer  either  safe  for  me 
nor  to  my  mind. 

Our  decision  was  hastened  by  some  news  Cicely  heard. 

She  had  always  felt  sure,  from  my  description  of  the 
voice  and  the  hymn  which  I  had  heard  that  morning  in 
the  Minorite  prison,  that  it  was  the  Lady  Clare  who  sang 


392 


THE  EARLY  DAWN. 


it.  And  at  length,  one  day,  she  found  access  to  the  con- 
vent of  Poor  Clares,  and  actually  saw  the  Lady  Clare, 
and  tried  to  speak  to  her  of  the  Book  of  God  we  had  all 
grown  so  dearly  to  prize ;  but  when  the  nun  heard  of  the 
name  of  the  translator,  she  crossed  herself  and  would  not 
listen  to  another  word,  but  implored  Cicely,  as  she  valued 
her  salvation,  to  flee  from  that  heretic's  poison  as  from 
the  plague,  "for,"  said  she,  "heresy  is  busy  among  us 
now,  even  in  the  holiest  places." 

And  then  she  told  how,  not  many  months  before,  a 
Franciscan  friar  had  escaped  from  the  prison  of  the  Min- 
orites, on  the  charge  of  holding  terrible  errors,  and  could 
nowhere  be  found,  so  that  many  believed  the  devil  himself 
had  spirited  him  away. 

Cicely's  heart  beat  very  fast,  but  she  said  nothing ; 
only  as  she  left  soon  after,  something  in  the  Lady  Clare's 
look  piercing  the  calm  of  her  grave,  nun-like  bearing, 
reminded  her  of  old  times,  and  she  said, — 

"  Sweet  Lady  Clare,  are  you  then  at  rest  and  satisfied 
here,  and  is  all  as  you  hoped  ?" 

"  All  can  never  be  as  we  hope,  Cicely,"  was  the  sad 
reply,  "  on  earth.  But  if  the  world  penetrates  even  here, 
I  may  surely  find  my  Saviour  here,  and  serve  Him  in 
every  sick  and  suffering  creature  whose  loathsome  wounds 
I  dress,  in  His  name,  seeking  to  lead  them  to  Him." 

They  said  no  more,  but  Cicely  verily  believes  that  the 
Lady  Clare  and  Dr.  Wycliffe  are  working  (unknown  to 
each  other)  for  one  Master  and  one  end. 

After  this  no  time  was  lost.  I  journeyed  at  once  to 
Lutterworth,  and  there,  for  two  years,  till  he  died  in  his 
parsonage  in  1384, 1  had  the  great  blessing  of  learning 
of  Dr.  Wycliffe,  copying  the  Holy  Scriptures  among  his 
scribes,  and  being  trained  among  his  "  poor  priests." 


A  STOUT  OF  THE  L0LLAMD8. 


393 


Since  ten  I  have  journeyed  through  the  country  north 
and  south ;  in  uplandish  towns  such  as  were  Cana  and 
Bethphage,  in  places  of  the  country  both  great  and  small, 
in  cities  and  castles,  wherever  men  could  be  gathered  and 
would  listen,  the  little  band  went  forth  from  Lutterworth, 
with  sandalled  feet  and  simple  dress,  content  with  such 
fare  as  the  poorest  were  ready  to  share  with  us,  remem- 
bering the  words  of  our  Lord,  "  Behold  the  crowes  :  for 
they  sow  not  nether  reap,  to  which  is  no  cellar  nor  barn, 
and  God  feedeth  them :  how  much  more  ye  be  of  more 
price  than  they."  And  in  the  bosom  of  our  robes  we 
bore  the  precious  jewel,  the  new  English  Bible. 

The  seed,  the  incorruptible  seed  of  the  word  is  sown  ; 
the  Sower,  the  Son  of  man,  has  been  with  us  ;  the  Spirit, 
the  Living  Water,  has  watered  it ;  and  now  I  know  of  a 
surety  it  shall  never  more  be  rooted  out  throughout  Eng- 
land. 

Chiefly  in  the  homes  of  franklins  and  burghers,  crafts- 
men and  ploughmen  of  the  old  Saxon  stock,  I  think  it 
has  taken  root ;  and  in  this  I  greatly  rejoice,  for  although 
the  headsman's  sword  may  be  sharpened,  or  the  traitor's 
gallows  may  be  erected  for  a  few  noble  heads  among  us, 
what  search  can  find  out  the  countless  lowly  hearts  in 
farm,  and  cottage,  and  city,  which  the  good  tidings  have 
reached?  Thank  God  for  the  welcome  given  to  his 
word  in  castle  and  court.  Had  not  even  the  Queen,  the 
good  Lady  Anne  of  Bohemia,  the  Bible  in  her  own  lan- 
guage and  in  ours,  and  has  not  the  truth  spread  through 
her  attendants  from  England  into  Bohemia ;  Saxon  or 
English  lips  once  more,  as  in  the  days  of  Boniface  and 
Willibrord,  proclaiming  the  faith  to  Europe,  confession 
here  met  by  confession  there,  fire  here  answered  by  fire 
there?  Thank  God  for  the  noble  and  the  mighty,  though 
17* 


394  THE  EARL  T  DA  WK 

not  many ;  but  let  us  thank  Him  even  more  for  the  many, 
the  great  multitude  which  no  man  can  number,  not  noble, 
not  mighty, "  the  things  which  are  not,  bringing  to  nought 
the  things  that  are." 

Lord  Cobham  dies  alone — dies  because  he  is  too  high 
to  be  suffered  to  live  a  heretic.  But  Badby  the  tailor, 
burned  in  1409  at  Smithfield,  represents  hundreds  of 
humble,  thoughtful  men,  of  plain  Saxon  sense  underlying 
their  devout  Christian  aspirations,  who,  like  him,  "believe 
in  the  Omnipotent  Trinity,  but  cannot  receive  the  twenty 
thousand  gods  in  the  consecrated  hosts  on  all  the  altars 
in  England  f  and,  if  called  upon,  although  loving  life  and 
valuing  earthly  good,  yet  can,  like  him,  be  seduced  by  no 
promises  of  royal  pensions  nor  dread  of  direst  death-pains 
to  say  they  worship  for  their  Lord  a  thing  "  created  by 
the  priest "  instead  of  the  living  God,  Creator,  Incarnate 
Redeemer,  life-giving,  all-present  Spirit. 

Yes,  this  "  heresy "  is  everywhere ;  for  the  book  of 
God  which  teaches  it  has  penetrated  everywhere.  The 
bishops  and  judges  speak  of  the  numbers  of  the  Lollards 
as  countless  —  multiplying  continually  —  five  hundred 
being  apprehended  in  a  short  time  in  the  diocese  of  Lin- 
coln alone,  among  the  fens,  old  haunts  of  Saxon  piety 
and  refuges  of  Saxon  freedom.  In  London,  in  Norfolk, 
at  Hereford,  at  Shrewsbury,  at  Calais,  informers  betray 
them,  and  stakes  reveal  them  to  the  eyes  of  all.  But 
there  are  more  yet  than  these  informers  can  search  out 
or  the  most  zealous  judges  manifest.*  Once  more  the 
Church  is  beginning  to  believe  in  the  true  Vicar  of 
Christ,  the  Comforter,  the  Teacher,  the  Paraclete,  for 

*  Foxe,  on  the  authority  of  Spelman,  says,  that  in  those  days  scarcely 
two  people  could  be  found  togeth.Br  and  not  one  of  them  a  Lollard  or  a 
Wyoliffite. 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  395 

the  sake  of  whose  coming  it  was  expedient  that  even  the 
incarnate  Christ  himself  should  for  a  season  in  visible 
presence  depart. 

The  poor  may-bes  and  peradventures  of  the  scribes  are 
passing  away  before  the  calm,  divine  "I  Am."  Once 
more  the  Yerily  and  Yea  and  Amen  of  God  is  sounding 
through  the  world,  through  the  Word  of  life  breathed 
into  men's  hearts  by  the  life-giving  Spirit. 

Once  more  to  Christian  men  life  has  glorious  ends,  and 
death  is  but  a  more  glorious  beginning. 


CICELY'S  TALE. 

YORKSHIBE,  1420. 

WE  have  left  London,  and  are  living,  Richard  and 
I,  and  our  boys  and  girls,  in  the  old  farm  among 
the  Yorkshire  hills. 

Times  are  much  changed  since  I  was  a  child.  Subjects 
were  openly  discussed  in  my  father's  house  in  London 
which  now  scarcely  may  be  mentioned  above  a  whisper, 
even  in  lone  country-houses  such  as  this. 

Thirty  years  ago  England  had  never  seen  man,  woman, 
nor  child  burned  on  account  of  religion.  In  1390  came 
tho  cruel  statute  of  King  Henry  the  Fourth,  de  heretico 
comburendo, — soon  afterwards  proclaimed  a  terrible  real- 
ity by  the  burning  of  William  Sawtree,  parish  priest  of 
St.  Asyth's  in  London,  as  a  Lollard, — the  first  heretic 
ever  burned  in  England. 

In  1417  good  Lord  Cobham  died  at  St.  Giles'  Fields. 
Among  the  bushes  there  they  cleared  a  space  for  his  gal- 
lows, condemning  him  to  die  as  both  a  traitor  and  a  here- 
tic.   He  met  his  slow  death  of  agony  and  shame  fear- 


396  THE  EARLY  DA  WK 

lessly,  as  a  soldier  should  who  had  served  King  Henry- 
well,  and  Christ  better.  The  priests  cursed  him  as  he 
suffered,  but  the  people  wept  and  prayed.  And  Richard 
said  no  doubt  both  curses  and  prayers  reached  their  own 
place ;  the  curses  bringing  back  fire  and  bitterness  to 
the  hearts  which  breathed  them,  from  the  accursed  one 
who  delights  in  them  ;  the  prayers  bringing  down  bless- 
ings on  the  martyr  and  on  the  praying  people  from  God. 

Shortly  after  Lord  Cobham's  death,  my  brother  came 
back  from  Bohemia,  whither  he  had  gone  to  help  about 
the  translating  of  certain  of  Dr.  WyclinVs  writings,  and 
brought  us  an  account  of  the  most  Christ-like  patience 
and  death  of  the  martyrs  John  Huss  and  Jerome  of 
Prague  at  Constance  in  1415. 

And  not  many  months  after  that  Cuthbert  died  in 
prison  at  Lambeth,  in  the  Lollards'  Tower.  Richard 
and  I  visited  him  often  in  prison.  One  day  his  counte- 
nance had  more  than  even  its  wonted  peacefulness,  and 
he  told  us  how  there  had  come  back  to  him  that  morning 
in  the  early  twilight,  as  if  chanted  once  more,  as  once  he 
had  heard  it  by  the  rich  voice  of  the  Lady  Clare,  the 
words  of  the  Latin  hymn — 

Recordare  Jesu  pie 
Quod  sum  causa  tuae  viae 
In  me  perdas  ilia  die. 

And  then,  as  if  it  were  an  antiphon  from  the  other  side 
of  the  choir,  these  words — "  My  sheep  hear  my  voice,  and 
I  know  them,  and  they  suen  (follow)  me,  and  I  give  to 
them  everlasting  life,  and  they  shall  not  perish  without 
end,  and  none  shall  ravish  them  from  my  hand  •" — and 
these,  "  Death,  where  is  thy  victory  ?  Death,  where  is 
thy  prick  ?    But  the  prick  of  death  is  sin,  and  the  virtue 


A  STORY  OF  THE  LOLLARDS.  397 

of  sin  is  the  law  ;  but  do  we  thankings  to  God,  that  gave 
to  us  victory  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

The  sigh,  he  said,  was  answered  by  the  promise  and 
the  song ;  the  trembling  human  aspiration  of  the  hymn 
by  the  joyful  divine  Amen  of  the  Holy  Scriptures. 

"Happy  those,"  said  Richard,  "who  like  Cuthbert 
begin  the  song  of  thanksgiving  on  earth ; — yet  happy 
also  those  who,  like  your  mother  and  the  Lady  Clare, 
although  with  downcast  eyes  and  trembling  lips,  breathe 
that  sigh  to  the  pitying  Lord  ;  for  it  shall  surely  turn  to 
the  song  in  heaven." 

Dark  as  the  times  seem,  Richard  saith  it  is  the  day  and 
not  the  night  that  is  coming.  And  he  tells  our  boys, — 
in  the  evenings  when  the  doors  are  closed  and  the  bolts 
are  drawn  and  all  the  house  is  still,  and  from  its  secret 
niche  in  the  wall  he  takes  out  Dr.  WyclifiVs  prohibited 
Bible  and  reads  it  to  us, — that  the  days  may  yet  come 
when  England  will  glory  more  in  Wycliffe,  the  first  Re- 
former, and  in  WyclifiVs  Bible,  the  first  translation  of 
the  Holy  Scriptures  published  among  the  people,  than  in 
all  the  victories  of  King  Henry  in  France.  But  this  the 
boys  find  hard  to  believe. 


BOOKS     PUBLISHED     BT 

M.  W.   Dodd, 

506  Broadway,  New  York. 


JUST    PUBLISHED  : 

Chronicles     of    the     Schonberg- Cotta 

Family.  By  Two  of  Themselves.  1  vol.  crown  8vo, 
beautifully  printed,  $1    50. 

To  those  unfamiliar  with  the  history  of  Luther  and  his  times,  the  title  of 
this  unique  work  may  not  sufficiently  indicate  its  character. 

The  design  of  the  author  is  to  so  reproduce  the  times  of  the  Eeformation 
as  to  place  them  more  vividly  and  impressively  hefore  the  mind  of  the 
reader  than  has  been  done  by  ordinary  historical  narratives. 

He  does  this  with  such  remarkable  success,  that  it  is  difficult  to  realize 
we  are  not  actually  hearing  Luther  and  those  around  him  speak.  We 
seem  to  be  personal  actors  in  the  stirring  scenes  of  that  eventful  period. 

One  branch  of  the  Cotta  family  were  Luther's  earliest,  and  ever  after, 
his  most  intimate  friends.  Under  the  title  of  "Chronicles'' our  author 
makes  the  members  of  this  family  (which  he  brings  in  almost  living  reality 
before  us)  to  record  their  daily  experiences  as  connected  with  the  Reforma- 
tion age. 

This  Diary  is  fictitious,  but  it  is  employed  with  wonderful  skill  in  bring- 
ing the  reader  face  to  face  with  the  great  ideas  and  facts  associated  with 
Luther  and  men  of  his  times,  as  they  are  given  to  us  by  accredited  history, 
and  is  written  with  a  beauty,  tenderness  and  power  rarely  equaled. 

"  A  book  of  unusual  attraction  and  merit,  where  the  interest  never  flags, 
and  every  page  is  full  of  gems.  The  work  might  justly  be  termed  "A 
Romance  of  the  Reformation."  The  various  incidents  in  the  life  of  Luther 
are  portrayed  with  a  graphic  beauty  and  truthfulness  rarely  equaled.  *  *  * 
Albany  Times. 

"  This  is  a  book  of  extraordinary  interest  The  Cotta  Family  received 
Lutber  into  its  bosom  when  he  was  the  "beggar  boy,"  and  he  cherished  the 
warmest  affection  towards  its  various  branches.  The  story  from  first  to 
last  is  remarkable  for  its  artlessness  and  tenderness,  and  it  chains  the 
reader's  attention  to  the  close." — Am.  Theo.  Review. 

"  The  prominent  scenes,  from  the  time  of  Huss  to  the  death  of  Luther, 
are  painted  before  us,  and  we  read  them  with  such  interest  as  even  D'Au- 
bigne  can  scarcely  create.  The  book  has  all  the  fascination  of  a  romance." 
— Evangelical  Repository. 

"The  family  history  which  it  contains,  if  read  by  itself,  would  be  re- 
garded as  one  of  the  most  successful  portraitures  of  domestic  life  that  has 
ever  been  drawn,  each  character  being  delineated  and  preserved  with  strik- 
ing distinctness,  and  some  of  the  characters  being  such  as  the  reader  will 
love  to  linger  over  as  he  would  over  some  beautiful  portrait  drawn  by  a  mas- 
ter's pencil."—^  Y.  Observer. 


M.  W.  Dodd's  Publications. 

PULPIT  ELOQUENCE  (History  and  Repo- 
sitory  of);  Deceased  Divines;  containing  the  Master- 
pieces of  Bossuet,  Bourdalone,  Massillon,  Flechier, 
Isaac  Barrow,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Chalmers,  Robert  Hall, 
M'Laurin,  Christmas  Evans,  Edwards,  John  M.  Ma- 
son, etc.  With  DISCOURSES  from  the  Fathers  and 
the  Reformers,  and  the  marked  men  of  all  countries  and 
times,  from  the  Apostles  to  the  present  century ;  with 
Historical  Sketches  of  Preaching  in  each  of  the  coun- 
tries represented,  and  Biographical  and  Critical  Notices 
of  the  several  Preachers  and  their  Discourses,  by  Henry 
C.  Fish,  D.  D.     Two  volumes,  8vo,  $7  00. 

It  is  believed  to  contain  a  very  complete  history  of  preaching,  and  of  the 
great  pulpit  orators  ;  and  to  embody  an  amount  of  Christian  eloquence^ 
and  a  great  variety  of  topics,  such  as  was  never  before  presented  in  anything 
like  the  same  compass.  More  than  eighty  different  preachers  are  hers 
represented;  each  by  a  brief  sketch,  and  by  his  most  celebrated  die- 
course.  Under  the  Greek  and  Latin  pulpit,  their  are  eight  discourses 
under  the  English,  twenty-two;  under  the  German,  ten;  under  the  French 
eleven;  under  the  Scottish,  nine ;  under  the  American,  sixteen ;  under  the 
Irish,  four;  under  the  Welsh,  three.  It  will  be  seen  that  more  than  thirty 
are  from  foreign  languages.  The  translations  are  uniformly  from  high 
sources. 

"  The  purpose  of  this  massive  work  will  commend  itself  to  clergymen  and 
to  all  admirers  of  the  highest  style  of  eloquence.  It  aims  to  present  the 
characteristics  of  pulpit  oratory,  in  all  ages  of  the  Christian  Church,  by 
furnishing  specimens  from  the  most  celebrated  and  influential  men  of  each 
period.  The  idea  has  been  carried  out  with  wonderful  completeness.  Such 
a  body  of  homiletic  literature,  embracing  so  great  a  variety,  and  so  instruc- 
tive indications,  has  never  been  brought  together  before 

The  interest  and  value  of  such  a  collection  can  hardly  be  over-estimated." — 
Evangelist. 

"  We  have  felt,  in  glancing  through  these  splendid  and  massive  volumes, 
as  though  walking  in  a  gallery  of  statuary,  along  the  reaches  of  which  stood, 
each  on  his  pedestal,  the  mighty  pulpit  orators  of  other  centuries  and  gen- 
erations. And  as  we  paused  before  each,  to  read  the  name  inscribed,  and 
to  study  the  form  and  features,  the  statue  warmed  suddenly  into  life,  called 
back  the  long-silent  voice,  and,  with  lifted  hand  and  glowing  lip,  repeated 
the  strong  arguments  that  wrestled  so  overmasteringly  with  the  minds  of 
their  day,  and  now  held  us  wrapt  listeners." — CongregationaUst. 

"Even  a  layman  would  be  justified  in  recommending  it  unhesitatingly 
and  without  reserve,  as  an  invaluable  treasure  to  every  man  of  taste,  and  as 
of  especial  and  indispensable  importance  to  ministers  of  the  gospel  and  to 
the  Christian  public." — Evening  Traveller. 

"The  historical  information  communicated  in  these  volumes  will,  of  itself, 
more  than  repay  the  expense  of  their  purchase." — Bibliotheca  Sacra. 

*  We  regard  these  volumes  as  scarcely  less  valuable  to  the  intelligent  lay- 
man than  to  tho  aspiring  clergyman.  They  are  filled  with  the  most  eloquent 
and  powerful  appeals  which  human  minds  have  addressed  to  their  fellow 
creatures  in  the  interests  of  religion,  and  constitute  an  enduring  record  of 
the  highest  order  of  eloquence." — Com.  Advertiser. 


M.  W.  Dodd  's  Publications. 
PULPIT  ELOQUENCE  of  the  Nine- 

teenth  Century.  Being  supplementary  to  the  History 
and  Repository  of  Pulpit  Eloquence  (deceased  divines)  ; 
and  containing  Discourses  of  Eminent  Living  Ministers 
in  Europe  and  America.  Accompanied  with  Sketches 
Biographical  and  Descriptive.  By  Henry  C.  Fish, 
D.  D.  With  an  Introductory  Essay  by  Prof.  Edwards 
'  A.  Park,  D.  D.  One  large  volume,  8vo.  Illustrated 
with  seven  large  Portraits  from  steel,  $4  00. 

Nearly  sixty  of  the  most  distinguished  Preachers  of  the  present  day  are 
here  introduced,  about  forty  of  whom  belong  to  foreign  countries.  The  Dis- 
courses have  been  almost  uniformly  prepared  expressly  for  this  work,  or 
selected  and  designated  by  their  authors  themselves.  They  are,  therefore, 
no  ordinary  productions ;  but  will  be  esteemed  worthy,  it  is  believed,  of 
being  placed  with  the  "  Master-Pieces  of  Pulpit  Eloquence  "  of  other  ages. 
The  materials  of  the  Biographical  Sketches  have  in  all  cases  been  derived 
from  responsible  sources. 

As  indicative  of  the  character  of  the  work,  it  may  be  stated,  that,  under 
the  German  Pulpit,  such  men  as  Professors  Tholuck,  Julius  Muller,  Nitzsch, 
Drs.  Krummacher  and  Hoffman,  Court  Preachers  to  the  King  of  Prussia, 
will  be  found;  under  the  French  Pulpit,  Drs.  J.  H.  Merle  D'Aubigne, 
Gaussan,  Malan,  Grandpierre,  and  the  celebrated  Adolphe  Monod  (deceased 
since  the  preparation  of  the  work  was  commenced) ;  under  the  English, 
Melville,  and  Noel,  and  Bunting,  and  James  and  the  like ;  and  under  the 
Scottish,  Drs.  Hamilton,  Cummings,  Buchanan,  Guthrie,  Duff,  Candlish  and 
others. 

The  American  Pulpit  is  represented  by  eminent  men  in  each  Evangelical 
denomination,  selected  with  great  care,  and  after  wide  consultation.  Most 
of  the  Discourses  in  this  department  appear  in  print  now  for  the  first  time. 

"Our  readers  will  remember  the  noble  volumes  of  which  this  is  a  supple- 
ment, and  how  cordially  we  commended  them  to  their  delighted  study.  The 
present  volume  is  worthy  to  go  with  them  as  a  memento  of  the  living,  who 
teach  and  preach  Jesus  in  many  nations. 

"  Those  who  own  the  former  volumes  will  hasten  to  add  this  to  their 
treasure,  and  those  who  have  failed  hitherto  to  procure  them  will  find  them 
selves  doubly  tempted  now." — Congregationalist. 

"  The  biographical  sketches  are  compiled  with  care,  and,  along  with  an 
outline  of  the  history  of  each  individual  named,. contain  brief  critical  discus- 
sions of  their  merits  as  preachers  and  as  divines.  These  criticisms  are,  so 
far  as  we  can  determine,  just  and  discriminating.  Altogether,  this  volume, 
like  its  predecessors,  is  a  highly  valuable  and  acceptable  contribution  to  our 
religious  literature,  and  will  be  an  acquisition  to  the  library  of  any  reading 
man,  whether  he  be  a  minister  or  layman. — Christian  Times. 

"  Whether  it  be  considered  in  reference  to  the  felicity  of  its  selections, 
the  fidelity  of  its  sketches,  the  amplitude  of  its  range,  or  the  general  im- 
partiality and  good  taste  that  mark  its  execp*ton,  it  is  worthy  of  all  praise , 
and  the  author  has  fairly  entitled  himself  to  the  gratitude  not  merely  of  his 
own  generation,  but  of  posterity." — Puritan  Recorder, 


M.  W.  Dodd's  Publications. 
CRUDEN'S     COMPLETE    CON- 

cordance  to  the  Holy  Scriptures ;  or,  A  Dictionary 
and  Alphabetical  Index  to  the  Bible.  By  Alexander 
Cruden,  M.  A. 


By  which,  I. — Any  verse  in  the 
Bible  may  be  readily  found  by 
looking  for  any  material  word  in 
the  verse.    To  which  is  added — 

II. — The  significations  of  the 
principal  words,  by  which  their 
true  meaning  in  Scriptures  are 
shown. 

III. — An    account    of  Jewish 


customs  and  ceremonies  Illus- 
trative of  many  portions  of  the 
Sacred  Record. 

IV.  —  A  Concordance  to  the 
Proper  Names  of  the  Bible,  and 
their  meaning  in  the  original. 

V.  —  A  Concordance  to  the 
Books  called  Apocrypha. 

One  vol.  4to.    Price,  $4. 


To  which  is  appended  an  original  life  of  the  Author,  illustrated 
with  an  accurate  Portrait  from  a  Steel  Engraving. 

The  only  genuine  and  entire  edition  of  the  complete  work  of  Cruden — 
the  only  one  embracing  those  features  of  it  which  Cruden  himself  and  the 
Public,  for  more  than  a  hundred  years,  have  regarded  as  essential  to  its  com- 
pleteness and  inestimable  value,  is  the  edition  published  by  the  subscriber. 

It  is  believed  to  be  the  most  accurate  Edition,  now  in  existence,  of  the 
original  work,  as  it  came  from  the  hands  of  the  author ;  and  is  the  only  Am- 
erican edition  having  any  fair  claim  to  his  name.  In  its  complete  form  it 
has  ever  been  regarded  as  immeasurably  superior  to  any  other  work  of  the 
kind. 

"Cruden's  Concordance,  in  its  unabridged  and  complete  slate,  is  invaluable 
to  the  biblical  student,  and  the  abridgements  which  have  been  made  of  it  fur- 
nish no  idea  of  the  thoroughness  and  fullness  of  the  original  and  complete 
work."— Rev.  Thomas  De  Witt,  D.  D. 

"Cruden's  Concordance  has  been  the  companion  of  mv  whole  life,  both  as 
a  theological  student  and  a  minister;  and  it  is  the  last  book,  with  the 
exception  of  the  Bible  itself,  that  I  would  consent  to  have  pass  out  of  my 
hands." — Rev.  Wm.  B.  Sprague,  D.  D. 

"  In  its  complete  form,  as  published  by  Mr.  Dodd,  I  would  earnestly  com- 
mend it  as  the  book  that  should  find  a  place  in  every  family  by  the  side  of 
the  Bible.  I  am  acquainted  with  no  work  that  can  be  a  substitute  for  it." — 
Rev.  J.  B.  Condit,  D.D.,  of  Auburn  Theological  Seminary. ."— Auburn,  If.  Y. 

"In  reply  to  yours,  I  can  only  say,  that  if  I  possessed  but  two  books  in 
the  world,  they  should  be  God's  Bible  and  Cruden's  Concordance." — Rev. 
Gardiner  Spring,  LL.  D. 

"  I  have  made  use  of  Cruden's  Concordance  for  many  years,  and  have  al- 
ways regarded  it  as  a  monument  of  industry,  and  an  indispensable  assistance, 
in  its  complete  form,  to  the  study  of  the  Word  of  God."— .Be®.  Professor 
Goodrich,  D.J).,  of  Yale  College,  New  Haven. 

"  No  English  Concordance  can  take  its  place.  It  is  equally  precious  to 
the  Minister  of  the  Word  and  the  earnest  reader  of  the  Scriptures,  of  any 
sort  or  condition  of  men." — Rt.  Rev.  Bishop  Mcllvaine,  D.  D. 

"  The  value  of  Cruden's  Concordance,  unabridged  and  entire,  I  consider 
as  incomparable  and  indispensable." — Rev.  Samuel  H.  Cox,  D.  D. 

"No  book  has  aided  me  more  in  the  study  of  God's  Word — enabling  me 
to  compare  Scripture  with  Scripture,  and  interpret  Scripture  by  Scripture. 
I  believe  its  usefulness  both  to  laymen  and  ministers  can  hardly  be  over- 
rated."— Rev.  Bishop  Janes,  D.  D. 

"  Cruden's  Concordance,  in  its  original  state,  I  consider  above  all  price  to 
the  student  of  the  Scriptures."— Rev.  Francis  Way  land,  LL.D.,  President 
of  Brown  University. 


JUVENILE    BOOKS 


PUBLISHED    BY 


M.     W.     D  O  D  D, 

506  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 

eO  C=> 

JUST    PUBLISHED  : 

Amy    Cait,    by    Caroline    Cheesbro.       l    vol. 

l6mo.      3  Illustrations,  -         -         -         -  $0.85 

"  No  stilted  language,  no  startling  incidents,  all  is  simple  and 
true  to  nature.  This  little  book  is  written  by  one  who  looks 
on  life  with  sad  but  kindly  eyes,  and  children  with  a  warm, 
yearning  heart  for  their  present  and  future  well-being.  A  pho- 
tograph of  "  life  as  it  is."  You  have  not  to  look  to  the  end  for 
the  moral.  Instruction,  moral  and  religious,  is  woven  like  a 
golden  thread  through  the  whole  fabric.  A  sweet  melody,  as 
from  a  better  sphere,  sings  in  your  heart  as  you  read,  and  lifts 
it  toward  celestial  harmonies." — Rochester  Democrat. 

Robert    the   Cabin    Boy.    By  H.  K.  P., 

Author  of  Mary  Alden,  etc.      i6mo,  illustrated,      85 

■  The  interest  with  which  our  author  has  invested  the  history 
of  this  homeless  orphan  child  of  the  sea,  and  the  important 
lessons  of  instruction  conveyed  as  the  reader  is  induced  to  fol- 
low him  in  after  years,  will  be  certain  to  make  the  book  about 
'Kobert  the  Cabin  Boy  *  a  universal  favorite." 


Glen  ar VOn  ;    or,  Holidays  at  the  Cottage.     A 
beautiful  Scotch  Story.      Illustrated.      i8mo,      -     65 

"This  is  a  delightful  book.  Its  stories,  drawn  from  Scottish 
life,  are  interspersed  with  interesting  anecdotes  and  episodes, 
illustrating  historical  and  scientific  truths.  It  conveys  the  best 
moral  and  religious  lessons  adapted  to  the  youthful  mind,  and 
told  in  such  a  manner  a8  to  engage  the  attention." — Am.  and 
For.  Oh.  Union. 

Henry  Willard  ;  or,  the  Value  of  Right  Prin- 
ciples, by  C.  M.  Trowbridge.     Illustrated,         -     65 

"A  story  of  a  boy  who  learned  from  his  pious  parents  always 
to  do  right,  and  who,  though  an  orphan  when  quite  young,  and 
often  sorely  tempted,  maintained  his  integrity,  and  eventually 
won  many  warm  friends,  and  exerted  a  good  influence  over 
others." — Presbyterian. 


2        M.   W.  Dodd's  Publications. 

The  Little  Savoyard,  Wonderful  Phials  and 
other  Stories.  Translated  from  the  French  by- 
Anna.      i8mo,       -         -         -         -         -         $0.65 

If  any  one  can  read  the  story  of  the  Little  Savoyard  and  not 
have  the  sensibilities  deeply  moved,  and  the  kindliest  feelings 
of  the  heart  brought  into  exercise,  we  are  greatly  mistaken. 
This  and  the  other  stories  embraced  in  the  volume  make  it  one 
of  great  interest  to  the  reader. 

Heroes  of  Puritan  Times,  by  Joel  Stough- 

ton.   With  an  Introduction  Letter  by  Joel  Hawes, 
D.D.,  ....  -        -    65 

"  This  is  a  book  of  decided  interest.  The  times  to  which  it 
relates,  the  characters  it  describes,  the  stirring  events  which  it 
sketches,  and  the  noble  sentiments  which  it  illustrates,  lend  it 
a  peculiar  charm." 

Honey  Blossoms  for  Little  Bees,     a 

beautiful  Juvenile.     Illustrated,         -         -         -     65 
"A  beautiful  book  with  a  eweet  title,  and  what's  more  a  pretty 
story,  in  large  type  and  short  words,  with  beautiful  pictures  to 
help  the  little  reader  to  understand." 

The  Deaf  Shoemaker,  and  other  Stories. 

By  Philip  Barrett.     Illustrated.      i8mo,    -         -     55 

"The  author  of  this  charming  little  book  understands  what 
will  interest  children,  and  how  to  adapt  his  style  and  language 
to  their  taste  and  wants.  We  cordially  recommend  it  to  a 
place  in  every  Sabbath-School  and  family  library."— Advocate 
and  Guardian. 

Fred.  Lawrence,  or,  The  World  College.  By 
Margaret  E.  Teller.      Illustrated,     i8mo,  -     55 

"  This  interesting  story  shows  how  a  youth  may  make  a  man 
of  himself  in  spite  of  many  disadvantages,  and  the  embarrass- 
ments of  poverty.  He  is  cut  short  in  his  course  of  study  by 
the  necessity  of  providing  a  livelihood  for  his  widowed  mother 
and  sister;  yet  contrives  to  make  himsolf  a  scholar,  and  push 
his  way  to  wealth  and  an  honorable  position." — Church  Times. 

Winter  in  Spitzbergen  ;  ,  book  for  Youth, 

from   the    German    of    C.    Hildebrandt,  by  E. 

Goodrich  Smith.      Illustrated,  -         -         -     65 

■  A  book  of  surpassing  interest  for  young  people.  Those  who 
have  been  charmed  with  Robinson  Crusoe  will  be  delighted  with 
this.  It  gives  an  account  of  the  manner  in  which  three  lonely 
castaways  spent  a  winter  in  the  dark,  frozen,  and  desolate  polar 
regions  of  Spitzbergen,  and  how  they  were  at  length  providen- 
tially delivered.  A  capital  book  to  be  read  aloud  around  a 
winter  fireside."— Baptist  Memorial. 


M.   W.  Dodd's  Publications.        3 

The  Old  Chest  and  its  Treasures,  by- 
Aunt  Elizabeth.  A  most  attractive  volume  of 
several  hundred  anecdotes  and  stories,      izmo,    $0.90 

"A  collection  of  more  than  two  hundred  striking  incidents 
and  anecdotes,  illustrative  of  moral  and  religious  truths.  It  is 
an  excellent  book  for  the  family,  and  especially  the  young." — 
Christian  Observer. 

Sunday   Sketches  for    Children,  by  a 

Father.     Illustrated.      i8mo,  -         -         -         -     65 

"Those  are  admirable  sketches,  naturally  and  strikingly 
drawn,  and  will  be  read  by  the  children  with  pleasure  and 
profit." — Christian  Chronicle. 

Shadows  and  Sunshine,  as  illustrated  in  the 

History  of  Notable  Characters,  by  Rev.  Erskine 
Neal.     i8mo,         -         -         -    '     -         -         -     65 

"  A  book  in  which  various  characters  are  made  to  teach,  and 
from  whose  chequered  experience  much  which  is  valuable  may 
be  derived.    We  can  heartily  recommend  it." — Religious  Her. 

Stories    for  Young   Americans.     By 

Prof.  Joseph  Alden. 

The  Example  of  Washington.     With  Portrait,  -  40 

The  Old  Stone  House.    A  Story  of  1  jj6,  -  40 

Fruits  of  the  May-Flower,       -         -         -         -  40 

Stories  and  Anecdotes  of  the  Puritans,       -         -  40 

"Prof.  Alden's  juvenile  books  are  in  many  respects  patterns 
of  publications  for  the  young.  They  have  a  purity,  simplicity, 
and  gravity  of  style,  that  must  do  much  towards  forming  mental 
and  moral  characteristics  of  the  best  model." — Religious  Bee 

By  Charlotte  Elizabeth. 

Personal  Recollections  and  Memoir,  -  -     65 

Posthumous  Poems,         -         -         -  -  -     65 

Judah's  Lion,         -         -         -         -  -  -65 

Judaea  Capta,         -         -         -         -  -  -     65 

The  Deserter,        -         -         -         -  -  -^5 

The  Flower-Garden,       -         -         -  -  -     65 

Count  Raymond  of  Toulouse,  -  -  -     65 

Conformity,  -         -         -         .  -  -     40 

Falsehood  and  Truth,     .....     40 


4        M.  W.  Dodd's  Publications. 
Sovereigns  of  the  Bible,  by  Eliza  R.  Steele, 

author  of  **  Heroines  of  Sacred   History,"  etc. 
With  illuminated  title  and  fine  illus.     i2mo,       $1.50 

"  We  have  here  the  scattered  facts  in  the  lives  of  the  kings  of 
Israel  and  Judah  skillfully  arranged  in  continuous  narratives, 
which  are  highly  instructive.  The  book  is  an  important  contri- 
bution to  our  general  biblical  literature."— Albany  Argus. 

The  RuSSell  Family,  by  Anna  Hastings. 
Illustrated.     i8mo,         -         -         -         -         -     55 

"  A  very  beautiful  and  instructive  story  from  real  life,  illus- 
trating the  power  of  a  Christian  mother,  and  the  sweet  influencea 
^  of  the  domestic  circle." — New  York  Observer. 

Minnie  Carlton,  by  Mary  Belle  Bartlett.     A 

beautiful  Story  for  Girls.     Illustrated.      i8mo,  -     65 

"The  subject  of  this  narrative  is  the  eldest  daughter  of  a 
household  forced  by  the  death  of  her  mother  to  take  charge  of 
it.  The  pledge  given  to  her  dying  mother  to  train  the  little  ones 
to  meet  her  in  heaven  is  conscientiously  fulfilled,  and  the  les- 
sons of  her  example,  prudence  and  piety,  rewarded  by  the  most 
cheering  results,  bringing  light  and  joy  to  the  household,  will 
scarcely  be  read  without  deep  and  grateful  emotion." — Evang. 

Uncle     Bamaby  ;    or,    Recollections    of    his 

Character  and  Opinions.  65 

"  The  religion  of  the  book  is  good — the  morality  excellent, 
and  the  mode  of  exhibiting  their  important  lessons  can  hardly 
be  surpassed  in  anything  calculated  to  make  them  attractive 
to  the  young,  or  successful  in  correcting  anything  bad  in  their 
habits  or  morals." 

The  Finland  Family  ;  or,  Fancies  taken  for 
Facts.  A  Tale  of  the  Past  for  the  Present.  By 
Mrs.  Susan  Peyton  Cornwall,  -         -         -         -     65 

"  The  Finland  Family  belongs  to  the  very  best  class  of  re- 
ligious tales.  It  is  full  of  the  gentlest  and  sweetest  sympa- 
thies, and  at  the  same  time  commends  the  culture  of  the  firmest 
and  most  steadfast  principles."— C%.  Intelligencer. 

Frank  Forrest  ;  or  the  Life  of  an  Orphan  Boy. 
By  David  M.  Stone.     Illustrated.      i8mo,         -     45 

"It  inculcates  the  most  impressive  lessons  of  virtue  and  re- 
ligion, and  the  intense  interest  of  the  story  will  rivet  the 
attention  of  the  children ;  thus  securing  a  happy  influence  on 
their  hearts."— Journal  of  Commerce. 

Poetic    Readings    for    Schools   and 

Families,  with  an  Introduction  by  J.  L.  Comstock, 

M.  D.     Illustrated,         -         -         -         -         -     65 

u  We  cordially  recommend  to  all  young  readers  this  charming 
collection.  It  is  executed  with  soundness  of  judgment,  deli- 
cacy of  taste,  and  great  range  of  research ;  no  school  ought  to 
be  without  it"— Home  Journal. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
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This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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